


From the Ashes

by AgentMalkere



Series: The Phoenix Corps [4]
Category: DCU (Animated), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Justice Lords, F/M, Families of Choice, but they are the ones stepping up to the plate, somebody needs to fix this mess they left behind, the Justice League returns, the Phoenix Corps, these are probably not the heroes anybody would have chosen for this job
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentMalkere/pseuds/AgentMalkere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Justice Lords are gone, but the world they left behind is broken.  Somebody needs to step up and help pick up the pieces.  Nobody would have picked them for the job, but they're going to do their best anyway.  (Because, honestly, Huntress, the Question, Nightwing, Oracle, Green Arrow, and Black Canary trying to work together?  Most would call that a recipe for disaster.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Comes Next

The thing that most people didn’t seem to grasp was that simply dethroning a tyrannical regime did not automatically make everything better. It did not instantly fix all the problems. It merely created a vacuum. 

The Justice Lords were gone. That was fine and dandy – people no longer lived in fear of the six metahumans nobody could stop and the most Machiavellian bastard the world had ever seen. All well and good – but that didn’t fix the problems. The police force was all but crippled and nonfunctional. The judicial system had practically been obliterated. The remaining governments were cracked and falling to pieces. There was almost no infrastructure to fall back on. 

It had taken three days for the news to spread that across the globe that the Justice Lords were gone. A further two weeks to sink in that they really weren’t coming back. After living in terror for so long, people had gone _mad_. There had been riots the police force had barely been capable of handling. The crime rate had rocketed to higher than even before the Justice Lords had taken over. Something needed to be done. 

Huntress crouched on the rooftop and surveyed the street below her. She hadn’t let her training slip while the Lords had been in power, but she also hadn’t been able to do anything either. Acting out against the Lords had practically been a death sentence, even for a non-power like herself. Everyone had heard what had happened to Black Canary. Huntress hadn’t wanted to be permanently crippled. Besides, Batman had known her secret identity. She would have had nowhere to hide. It had still chafed. 

The police were wary of her still. They had trusted Batman and just look where that had gotten them. But Huntress didn’t have fancy gadgets – just a mini crossbow, a bo staff, and a grappling line – and she was good at what she did. Under the new, clean façade Gotham was still a brutal city. The police needed all the help they could get. They had started to warm up a bit to her after the third beat cop she had saved. (Times were too desperate to be able to give the rookies adequate training.) 

There was a rustle from the alley to Huntress’s right. A mugger getting set up? A lot of people were desperate these days, and desperate people did desperate things. She slunk silently to the edge of the roof and peered down, careful not to let her head be outlined against the night sky. 

A man appeared to be rooting through a dumpster. His back was to her. He was worn and faded around the edges. His blue trench coat had definitely seen better days. It was ragged and tattered around the bottom. The coat hung on his shoulders in a way that implied that he had lost some weight since he had first purchased it. A blue fedora was jammed down over dark hair. Another down-on-his-luck business man, who had been reduced to dumpster diving to survive. Maybe one of the many reporters who had lost their jobs after speaking out against the Lords. 

Huntress was about to move on when the man turned his head like he had heard something. She paused. He didn’t have a face. Now _that_ was interesting. 

It obviously had to be a mask, but why wear a mask to root through garbage? It didn’t really seem like the actions of a vigilante _or_ a criminal. Huntress leapt over the edge of the roof and landed on the fire escape below with barely a rattle. The man turned and looked up at her. 

“Do you go through everybody’s trash, or is that dumpster just special?” She leaned on the railing with a sharp grin, her fingers hovering by her holstered crossbow just in case. 

The man tilted his head slightly to one side almost like a bird. 

“Huntress. Former associate of Batman before the Lords. Currently Gotham’s most visible vigilante. Wasn’t expecting you tonight. Probably should have.” 

“That was an impressive little diatribe, but that doesn’t answer my question. And I’m Gotham’s _only_ vigilante.” 

“No, just most visible.” The man turned his attention back to the dumpster. “Some of us had to relocate.” 

Huntress wasn’t really sure how to feel about that, but honestly, she could probably use the help. The GCPD had already lost four officers in the last two months. She couldn’t be everywhere at once. Now wasn’t the time for turf wars. 

“Fair enough. So, you got a name, new guy? You obviously already know mine.” Huntress vaulted the fire escape railing and dropped the rest of the way into the alley in a flutter of cape. 

The man twisted and stared at her for a few speculative seconds. Then he touched the brim of his hat with one gloved hand. 

“You can call me the Question.” 

“The Question, huh?” The name sounded familiar. Something Batman had mentioned once what seemed like eons ago and worlds away floated to the surface of her mind. “You’re that data guy, right? The one from Hub- oh. …Sorry for your loss.” 

The Lords had deemed some cities beyond help. Hub City had been one of them. The city’s populace had been evicted, and it had been leveled to its foundations. Gotham had only avoided a similar fate by being a center of commerce and Batman’s original home. 

Question dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. 

“Thank you.” He turned back to the dumpster once more. 

“What are you looking for?” 

“Evidence. A chemistry professor is starting a meth ring with his students as dealers. Needs to be stopped before it gets out of hand.” 

Huntress hadn’t heard about that, but the underworld contacts network she had once had had been decimated by the rise of the Lords. 

“You know,” Huntress commented casually, “I could always use a data expert.” It wouldn’t hurt. The Question was a non-power as far as she knew and unfunded. It was a risk, but catching criminals by luck and chance could only get her so far. She knew her weaknesses, and research was definitely one of them. 

Question hesitated in his search and then continued. 

“The Lords were born from something similar.” 

“No, they weren’t. The Lords happened because the Flash was killed and the Kryptonian went postal. They had too much power to begin with and no one to answer to. The two of us? We are never going to have that kind of power.” 

“Perhaps.” Question sounded doubtful. 

“Think about it.” Huntress shot her grappling line up towards the roofline. “I’ve gotta finish my patrol. See ya around, Q!” She swung away, not bothering to wait for a response. 

Three days later, Huntress was sitting on another rooftop listening to her police scanner. She barely glanced up as someone settled down next to her. The Question hadn’t bothered with being quiet. She’d heard him arrive. Instead of saying anything, she handed him one of the protein bars she’d brought. He took it and examined the packaging carefully. 

“Ah, the kind without the nanites – good choice.” The bar disappeared inside one of his coat pockets. They sat in silence for a few moments. “Your morals seem less gray than they used to be,” Question finally commented. 

Huntress didn’t ask how he’d figured that out. It was more or less true. 

“Yeah, well, the Lords changed everybody.” 

Question nodded. More silence. 

“Professor Heightmeir is taking his product to the street tomorrow night. Between the two of us, we should be able to catch him in the act and shut down his lab.” 

Huntress grinned, because you didn’t need two people to take down a wannabe meth distributer, but it did sound like fun. 

“It’s a date.” She winked at Question and was amused by the uncomfortable way he rolled his shoulders at that. The police scanner crackled to life. Jewelry store robbery in progress three blocks over. “Well, I gotta fly. Meet ya on top of the Grand Station in an hour, and we can talk details.” 

Question nodded, and Huntress swung away into the darkness. 

Before the Lords, Huntress had been a consummate loner. She’d done her thing and had no interest in working with other vigilantes. A lot had changed since then. Revenge wasn’t the only thing driving her anymore, though she would still rather hit first and ask questions never. Now it was about making the world a livable place again. Huntress couldn’t do it by herself, but maybe with a little extra help from Question, she could at least make a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by elphabacanfigureskate on tumblr.


	2. The Phoenix Corps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alliance between Question and Huntress was supposed to be just that – an alliance between just the two of them. It was not supposed to grow and acquire other people.

The alliance between Question and Huntress was supposed to be just that – an alliance between just the two of them. It was not supposed to grow and acquire other people. 

In short, the Phoenix Corps had happened by accident. And the name had definitely been Nightwing’s fault. 

 

It was two months into their odd little truce and Huntress was starting to think that she’d like to make her flippant ‘it’s a date’ comments a bit more literal. Question was awfully cute for a faceless guy. Also, that bit where he had figured out the newly returned Riddler’s clues at a lightning pace had been kinda hot. (Not all of Batman’s former Rogues Gallery had been caught and lobotomized. Some, like the Riddler, had been smart and gone into hiding during the Lords’ reign.) It was all a matter of how to broach the subject of, ‘hey, wanna catch a movie sometime instead of just criminals?’ How did you date from behind a mask, anyway? Huntress was fairly certain that Question had already learned her secret identity, but she certainly didn’t know his. 

“We might have a problem.” Question was looking rougher than usual. The only reason Huntress was certain that he didn’t actually live out of a cardboard box was because she knew that he had a computer. 

“What happened?” It had been almost three days since she had last seen Question. She had assumed it was another of his research binges. They happened. Huntress only started getting worried when it hit the four day mark, but he hadn’t turned up dead, yet. 

“Someone tried to hack me.” 

“Really?” As far as Huntress understood it, Question’s paranoid security measures put even Batman’s from back in the day to shame. “Someone connected to the Conspiracy?” Huntress didn’t believe in ‘the Conspiracy’ but Question did – even if he did say that the Lords had sort of broken it for the moment. (He would be ready, though, once it tried to rise again in the wake of the Lords’ destruction.) It was rude to belittle other people’s concerns, and she liked Q too much to alienate him by making fun of his theories. 

“No. Coding was familiar though.” 

“Think it’s related to our weapons case?” 

“Unlikely, but possible.”

They raided a tech company and downloaded information that could prevent a future shipment of illegal arms to Bloodhaven that night, and the subject didn’t get brought up again. 

 

A week later Huntress shifted slightly on top of a shipping container. She’d been waiting almost three hours for this supposed deal to go down and her elbows were starting to go numb. She and Question didn’t have solid enough evidence to bring the police in on things, yet. The boys down at the station were getting fond of her. She’d chat with them a bit sometimes while they were handcuffing the criminals she’d just knocked out. It made them see her as a person – someone more trustworthy. Batman had certainly never done that. They weren’t really keen on Q, but then they mostly only saw him as a tail of ragged blue coat disappearing around a corner as they arrived. 

There was the quiet scrape of a foot behind her and a soft intake of breath. Huntress rolled and spun, bringing her crossbow instantly up to bear. 

“Damn! You’re actually faster than I remember!” 

Huntress blinked, lowering her weapon just a hair. 

“Nightwing?” 

The so-called ‘Bat Clan’ had gone their separate ways long before the rise of the Lords, but that didn’t mean she had forgotten Batman’s former protégé. 

“Huntress,” Nightwing nodded and grinned at her, though it looked a little forced. There was an edge of a scar trailing a fraction of an inch below his mask that she didn’t remember. “I wasn’t expecting to meet you here.” 

“That seems to be a fairly common feeling. What brings you from Bloodhaven? I didn’t realize you were back in costume since the Fall.” Once upon a time, Huntress would have been pissed about someone else possibly encroaching on her ‘kill,’ but that had been Before. She wasn’t that uncompromising child anymore. 

“I got some information that illegal weapons are being shipped from Gotham to Bloodhaven. I was hoping to cut them off at the source. My source said that they were shipping out from this dock.” 

“Your source?” Huntress paused. Old memories were pulled from dusty filing cabinets, and puzzle pieces clicked together. She rolled her eyes. “You’re still in contact with Oracle, aren’t you? She’s the one who tried to punch through Q’s firewall.” 

Nightwing nodded sheepishly and then frowned. 

“Wait, who’s Q?” 

“He goes by the Question, and he is the most paranoid man you will ever meet in your life.” 

Nightwing raised an eyebrow. 

“I used to work with Batman.” 

“I know. So did I. Q makes Batman look laid back.” 

“Yikes.” 

They ended up stopping the arms deal together and that would have been that, if Question’s security protocols hadn’t taken offence to Oracle’s second attempt to hack them and spiked her computer. Anybody who wasn’t evil and could successfully spike Oracle’s systems was apparently good people. If Oracle weren’t based out of Bloodhaven now, Huntress might have been worried about her trying to steal Question away. 

As it was, Bloodhaven and Gotham were only a few hours apart. Having contacts in a nearby city was… useful. Question appreciated having access to Oracle’s network. Huntress appreciated having someone like Nightwing who could watch her back when there was a big take down and Question was in the middle of a research fog. (Question was a down and dirty, back-alley street brawler, but he was at his best against four or less opponents. He didn’t have Huntress or Nightwing’s training.) 

 

“You know, you’re pretty cute for a faceless guy.” Huntress watched as the back of Q’s neck flushed ever so slightly. He was definitely interested in her, but he would never make a move unless she pushed him. There was a certain level of insecurity hiding behind that blank mask. “We should go on a date sometime.” 

Question turned his head to look at her. It had been five months, and Huntress had finally been allowed to see his base of operations which may or may not have also been his home. Huntress wasn’t sure. It did contain his Conspiracy Board – complete with red strings and newspaper clippings – and Huntress was fairly certain that ‘home’ for Q was where his Conspiracy Board was. 

“I thought we already went on dates.” That sounded like a joke. With Question, though, it was sometimes hard to tell. 

Huntress rolled her eyes. 

“A real date, not a steal data and beat people up date. Like dinner and a movie or something.” 

“You want to?” There was just a hint of doubt in his tone and the barest smidgen of hope. 

“Yes, you dummy, or I wouldn’t have said anything.” 

 

“You’ll never guess what Oracle got her hands on!” 

Huntress glowered over Question’s shoulder at Nightwing’s beaming face on the computer screen. Cheerful people were obnoxious. How was she ever supposed to seduce Question out of his mask and clothes if Skype calls from the former Boy Wonder kept interrupting? 

“The Lords’ teleportation system,” Question stated decisively. 

Nightwing pouted but didn’t seem all that surprised. Catching Question off guard with anything aside from affection was very hard. Besides, Question and Oracle were in cahoots. 

“Got it in one. Once we’ve got it set up, we won’t have to worry about making a three hour trip for backup anymore.” 

It was exciting news, but it still wasn’t helping Huntress find out what Q was hiding under his trench coat and three piece suit. Nightwing smirked at her in a way that said he knew what she was thinking. Bastard. 

 

Ending up in Star City had not been high on Huntress’s list of priorities. In fact, it hadn’t been _anywhere_ on her list of priorities. Sadly, breaking up the drug ring required it. It was easier to stop the import at its source than chase after the individual dealers. 

She hadn’t been expecting someone to drop on top of her, wrap their legs around her throat, and try to strangle her with their thighs. Being on the opposite end of this technique was a novel and highly alarming experience. Her attacker was a woman – go figure. Somebody was probably going to find the security footage of their brawl and post it on the internet. Fantastic. 

Huntress did not spend the next several minutes getting her ass handed to her because… because that was definitely not what had happened. (Shut up – she could be in denial if she wanted to be.) A barely audible _thwip_ and a sudden burst of cold water raining down was what finally broke up their fight. Just as Huntress was finally getting the upper hand, too – at least, that was what she was going to tell Question later. 

“Calm down, Pretty Bird. She’s on our side.” 

A man dressed all in green and wielding a bow and arrow was staring down at them from the roof above. He looked far too amused. Huntress stepped back and finally got a clear look at her attacker.

She hadn’t recognized Black Canary with her once long blonde hair cropped so severely short, a black half-mask, and her distinctive fishnets replaced with black pants. The scars on her throat were gruesome in their precision. She obviously hadn’t recognized Huntress either, but then she wasn’t the only one who had changed her appearance.

Black Canary turned to the man with a scowl and made a series of hand gestures. Sign language. The last sign looked distinctly rude, and it made the man in green laugh. 

 

The teleporters worked like a charm. Huntress had expected Question to be wary of them, but they didn’t seem to bother him. 

“Ta da!” Nightwing spun in a circle with his arms out stretched. “Courtesy of our combined funds – well, mostly Arrow’s funds really –, we now have a base of operations!” 

“You’re lucky I had that money put aside, you know,” Green Arrow commented. “I really can’t afford to splurge on abandoned warehouses like I used to.” 

It wasn’t impressive, just large and rather run down. 

“Don’t need a base of operations,” grumbled Q. Huntress snorted. He was just annoyed that he hadn’t had time to investigate the building to his satisfaction ahead of time. He’d get over it once they had the computer terminals installed. After that happened, it might take a crowbar to pry him loose again. 

“Sure we do!” Nightwing looked far too chipper, but that seemed to be his coping mechanism, so whatever got him through the day without going supervillain on them. “We’re up to six members now. That means we need a base and we need a name.” 

“We do not need a name, ‘Wing,” came Oracle’s tinny voice over the communicator. Oracle had yet to meet any of them in person aside from Nightwing. 

“We’re rebuilding the world to what it once was,” Nightwing continued as if she hadn’t spoken, and Oracle let out an annoyed huff. “Putting the broken pieces back together. We can call ourselves… the Phoenix Corps.” He held out his hands in front of him like he was framing a picture with his fingers. 

Black Canary signed something to Green Arrow. He nodded. 

“You’re right – that is a stupid name.” 

It stuck anyway. 

 

Huntress was curled up against Question’s side on the awful excuse for a couch she’d made him rescue from a street corner. Four months they’d been dating now, and she still hadn’t seen his face, but she was much more patient than she used to be. Good things took time. 

Tonight something seemed to be bothering Question. He had a small can of aerosol in his hand and was fiddling with it between his fingers. Finally, he handed it to her. She took the can. 

“What is it?” 

“That’s what I use to take off my mask.” His voice was shaking slightly. 

Huntress stared at the aerosol can in her hand – the ultimate display of trust. 

“Are you sure?” She would wait much longer than this if she had to. 

“Yes.” Question’s shoulders were tense. He wasn’t looking at her. 

She gripped his chin gently and turned his head to face her. The soft hiss of the aerosol was the only sound in the room. Huntress watched in fascination as dark hair faded to orange. Her fingers carefully found the edges of the blank mask and peeled it away. Blue eyes were watching her cautiously. Her thumbs skimmed over cheekbones with just a hint of freckles and slightly parted lips. 

“I always knew there was a handsome face under there,” she smiled. She reached up and pulled off her own mask. “So what do I called you, handsome?” Helena asked. 

His cheeks tinted faintly red and, oh, it was amazing just how little emotion he could keep off his face without his mask on. 

“Vic. You can all me Vic.” 

“Nice to finally meet you, Vic,” Helena murmured and kissed him the way she’d been wanting to for months.

 

Calling Question their leader had started out as one of Nightwing’s jokes. 

“How’s our incredibly paranoid leader fairing today?” 

Nobody had expected for it to somehow warp into the truth. Question was deeply unimpressed. Possibly mortified. But he was the only one who _didn’t_ want to be in charge, and everyone else thought that that made him the perfect candidate. Besides, he grew on people. He’d been out voted. 

“You’re all insane,” Question grumbled, somehow managing to convey a glower without a face. 

They were sitting around the rough, secondhand table that Nightwing and Green Arrow had managed to salvage from somewhere. The chairs were folding metal ones and for the most part didn’t match. 

“We need somebody who will keep us honest and not go mad with power,” Oracle’s voice stated calmly over the communicator that sat at her place at the table. Huntress had a feeling that they’d be meeting her in person soon, but trust was a slow building thing. 

“Arrow would be a much better choice,” Question tried. 

“Nah. Have you met my ego? That’s just a recipe for disaster.” 

Black Canary smirked and signed something. Huntress was getting better at sign language, but she hadn’t caught that. Green Arrow pouted. 

“Now that was just unnecessarily harsh, Pretty Bird.” 

Black Canary’s shoulders shook in a way that indicated she was laughing even though she could no longer make the sound. 

“Besides,” Nightwing added, “we wouldn’t have cut all our aglets off for just anybody.” 

“Don’t worry about it, baby doll.” Huntress patted his shoulder. “This doesn’t actually change anything.” She leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “And I’ve always had a thing for men in positions of power.” 

The back of his neck turned red, and she laughed in delight. 

 

“What is it?” Huntress frowned at the computer file Oracle had sent her. 

“A phoenix.” Oracle sounded very pleased with herself. 

“I got that part.” There wasn’t much else an obvious bird on fire could be. “I meant, why are you showing it to me?” 

“I decided to make us an emblem. Once I’m done, it’ll act as an emergency silent distress call. That way none of us will ever truly be without backup.” She paused. “And you can tell Q when he asks that I made sure not to use the orange that triggers the subliminal programming in former KGB operatives.” 

 

Huntress had not counted on the Riddler ever becoming this much of a nuisance, but he seemed to have taken a real shining to Question. To the point where he kidnapped Question, not so he could stick him in a deathtrap full of puzzles or try to figure out his secret identity, but so that he could have a decent intellectual conversation. Huntress was pissed because current said kidnapping was infringing on _date night_. Had nobody figured out by now that _she_ was the only one who was allowed to tie Question up when she wanted to have a good time? 

Instead of finding Q at their prearranged meeting place, Huntress had found an anagram. She hadn’t actually bothered to try and solve it. 

She tapped her ear piece, switching over to Oracle’s channel. 

“Hey, O, could you get me a lock on Question’s location?” 

“Sure.” There was a moment of silence. Huntress thought she could hear the faint tapping of keys. “Looks like he’s in… the Iceberg Lounge? Isn’t it date night?” 

“Riddler got him again.” 

“Ah. Why does he let Riddler do that anyway?” 

“Riddler’s crime sprees have dropped to almost non-existent since he and Q started having their crossword competitions.” 

“Well, with a name like ‘the Question,’ Riddler was bound to like him.” 

Huntress grunted instead of making the effort to form words. Just because the Riddler had mostly limited his criminal activities to kidnapping Q didn’t mean she had to _like_ it. 

She stalked through the doors of the Iceberg Lounge and glared at Penguin, who was also more or less walking the straight and narrow these days. If you ignored the part where he was also Gotham’s most prominent, high class fence. He was another of the Rogues who had managed to escape the Lords. 

Penguin took one look at Huntress’s expression and pointed to the back room. 

“They’re in there.” 

Huntress pushed open the door with more force than necessary. Question was, indeed, tied to a chair, but he’d been given a pen and a crossword. Riddler was sitting across from him with another copy of the same crossword. A timer was ticking away in between them. She had interrupted another battle of the brains. 

“Give me back my boyfriend, Riddler,” Huntress growled. 

Riddler made a perturbed noise. 

“I told you it was date night,” Question informed him solemnly as he finished filling in number eleven across. 

 

There was blood. So much blood. 

“Come on, baby doll, stay with me!” The knife was still embedded in Question’s shoulder, but the first stab had been to his stomach. Nightwing was applying pressure to the first wound while Black Canary and Green Arrow did their best to hold him still so he couldn’t cause himself further harm. Huntress dug in his coat pocket for the can of aerosol. They needed to get him to a hospital, and that wasn’t happening with the mask on.

“No!” Question sounded panicked. 

“Q, baby, it’s okay,” she tried to assure him, but he shook his head violently. She knew he wasn’t thinking straight. The mask was like a kind of armor for him. Without it he felt vulnerable. 

Nightwing frowned and then seemed to come to a decision. 

“To hell with it – I trust you guys.” Nightwing reached up and, to everybody’s shock, pulled his mask off. “You can call me Dick. No jokes, please – I’ve heard all of them, and they’re not funny.” He gave Q a smile that was tight around the edges. “My teammates’ lives are more important to me than my secret identity. Isn’t that right, O?” 

“Definitely,” Oracle agreed over their ear pieces. “My name is Barbara, and if my legs still worked, I’d be right there with you.” 

“Ollie,” Green Arrow announced pulling off his mask as well. Black Canary followed suit and then glanced at Ollie for help. “And this is Dinah.” 

Huntress removed her own mask. 

“Helena.” She held up the aerosol can. “We all trust you. Can you trust us?” Question’s shoulders relaxed minutely, and he gave a shallow nod. 

Dick let out a snort despite the severity of the situation, 

“I should have guess you were really a redhead – you’re so damn feisty.” 

Ollie rolled his eyes. 

Helena carefully peeled back Question’s mask. His normally bright blue eyes were dull and unfocused. His face was terrifyingly pale.

“Vic,” he murmured. 

“Excellent, now that introductions are over, everybody put your masks back on so that I can transport him to a hospital,” Oracle commanded. 

“I am never letting you go out without Kevlar or a stab vest ever again,” Helena mumbled as she slid her mask back into place. Her hands were shaking. They’d never done that while she had the mask on before.

Vic’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted.

 

Helena and Dinah were sparring at the warehouse. They didn’t have any fancy equipment, but they did have a set of training mats that could be thrown down to soften the floor. Sparring without masks on every once in a while was almost relaxing. Things had gotten a lot more casual around the base once they’d done away with the pretense of secret identities. Not that things had ever been anything approaching formal before that. 

Barbara was updating the software and firewalls on one of the base’s two computer terminals. It was impressive that she could even lift her hand considering the size of the rock Dick had finally managed to put on her finger. So what if it was cubic zirconia? It glittered and shone more beautifully than any diamond Helena had ever seen. 

Question was monopolizing the other terminal for his research and was the only one in full costume at the moment. He claimed the mask helped him think. Thinking was all he was allowed to use it for currently. Q was still recovering from his stab wounds, and Helena would sit on him if necessary to make sure he took it easy. The others would help her, too. Question could just as easily have done his research from home, but Helena couldn’t keep an eye on him there _and_ get in a good spar. The last time she had left him to his own devices, he’d popped three of his stitches, the idiot. 

Even without her voice to fall back on, Dinah was an artist on the mats and the streets. Dinah fought, but in a way she also danced. Helena had already learned a lot. She wasn’t just learning new fighting techniques either. It turned out swearing in sign language was a very entertaining pastime. Dinah had made a hobby out of coming up with new and creative insults. 

Helena sprang out of the way of a roundhouse kick. She was about to aim a hit at Dinah’s open left side when a screech of frustration jostled her concentration. Both of them stopped and turned to see what all the commotion was about.

“For the last time, I don’t want you god damn money!” Dick came stomping in, mask in one hand, cellphone in the other. He looked livid. “I don’t care about your damn guilty conscience, Bruce – maybe you should have thought of that before you went along with them. So keep your freaking blood money to yourself, and stop putting it in my bank account! Next time you try to pull something like that, I’ll just donate the whole lot to the Iceberg Lounge!” He slammed his flip phone shut, pulled his arm back as if to hurl the device, and then thought better of it at the last moment. Dick relaxed his arm with a sigh. “Hey, Babs, do we really have to invite him to the wedding?” 

Barbara’s mouth twisted up. 

“Unfortunately, yes.” 

“Damn it. Hey, Q, don’t be surprised if a hundred thousand dollars mysteriously shows up in your bank account in the next week or so.” 

Question shook his head. 

“Already tried. Sent it back with one of Oracle’s viruses.” 

Barbara grinned that small, worrying grin of hers. Dick’s mouth quirked up slightly in response. 

“You guys are the best.” He slid his mask into place. “Are you two up for a little two on one sparring?” Nightwing asked. “I need to hit something.” 

_Always_ , Dinah signed, turning to retrieve her mask from where she’d dropped it on the meeting table. 

“Do you even need to ask?” Huntress agreed as she secured her own mask in place. 

 

The break-in in Gotham’s diamond district was only unusual in how artfully it was accomplished. The silent alarm was tripped, but that almost seemed to have been done on purpose. And as it turned out, it was. 

When Huntress made it up to the roof of the adjacent building, there was another woman already standing there wrapped in purple leather with a whip tied around her waist like a tail. She was staring up at the sky. Huntress had heard of Catwoman, but she’d never actually seen her before. 

“Here.” Catwoman didn’t even glance over at Huntress as she tossed her the missing twenty karat diamond necklace. “I thought I’d give it one more try for old time’s sake, but it’s really just not the same without him. There’s no challenge. It’s not fun anymore.” 

Catwoman disappeared into the darkness. Huntress stood numbly on the roof for a moment, watching one of the country’s most notorious jewel thieves melt away into the shadows. Then she shook herself, and climbed back down the building to return the necklace. 

 

Barbara had thought that making Dinah and Helena her bridesmaids was a hilarious idea. They had reluctantly humored her, because Oracle could do terrifying things when she was left alone with Photoshop and feeling bored and spiteful. Only Vic had been roped into being a groomsman. Ollie had weaseled his way out of the wedding party through unclear but no doubt underhanded means. 

Helena resisted the urge to tug at the ruffles of the green crushed-velvet dress that Barbara had chosen for the bridesmaids. She didn’t care what Vic said – it looked hideous on her. It wasn’t fair that Dinah somehow managed to look great no matter what she wore. 

It wasn’t a big or fancy wedding. No more than you’d expect from the daughter of Gotham’s former commissioner and a police officer from Bloodhaven. Some people might have expected more from the wedding of the adoptive son of Bruce Wayne, but then Bruce Wayne hadn’t been allowed to pay for anything. He’d barely managed to get an invite. Today, though, nobody particularly cared. 

Barbara looked iridescently happily. So did Dick. And that was all that really mattered. 

Vic was picking at his slice of vanilla wedding cake with his fork with great care. Helena raised an eyebrow at him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Some cake flour has radioactive compounds that-” 

She elbowed him in the ribs. 

“It’s homemade, and we’re sitting at the head table. Eat your damn cake before Jim Gordon starts looking at you like you should be committed again.” 

“Right.” Vic hesitated and then resolutely stuck a large forkful of cake in his mouth. He made an appreciative noise. Helena smiled. Sometimes Vic just needed to get out of his own head and do things. 

 

“You stenciled it onto the table,” Nightwing stated. 

“Yes, I did.” Barbara sounded incredibly pleased with herself.

Everyone stared at the Phoenix Corps emblem now adorning their battered and worn conference table. 

“But _why_ did you stencil it onto the table?” 

Barbara rolled her eyes like he was being slow. 

“It makes us look more official.” 

“Why do we need to look more official? We work out of a warehouse, have almost no funds, and our fearless leader would be considered mentally unstable by most people – no offense, Q,” Nightwing added, shooting Question an apologetic look. 

“None taken. Better to be underestimated.” 

“Anyway, we are basically about as _un_ official as it gets, so why so we need to look official?” 

“Well,” Barbara rubbed her nose and looked shifty, “I _may_ have been in contact with a few people.” 

“What do you mean a few people?” asked Huntress. 

“You told me that was for research purposes,” Question added, crossing his arms and looking very annoyed for a faceless man.

“I was doing research. We’re not the only vigilantes left, you know. The police are doing better, but it’s probably going to take years more to fix all the damage that was done. The word is getting out about us-” 

“How?” asked Green Arrow, sounding alarmed. None of them liked to advertise particularly. 

Barbara shrugged. 

“People talk. Others are interested in joining the Corps. Non-powers like us. There are people out there working all by themselves with no back up. They need our help.” 

_This is a terrible idea_ , signed Black Canary. 

Question turned his head to look at their dusty warehouse, two computer terminals, and banged up conference table that was scarred by Nightwing’s carvings and Huntress and Green Arrow’s doodles. 

“We should probably ask them to bring their own chairs,” he concluded. 

Huntress sighed. Damn it. Sounded like Q had already decided to say ‘yes’ to more people.

 

The roster list for the Phoenix Corps kept growing. They were up to fifteen members spanning the United States and Canada. They were still underfunded and based in the warehouse, because where else were they supposed to go? Huntress, Question, and the other four ‘original’ members were still the only ones who spent much time there. Mostly the Phoenix Corps just seemed to be a means of organizing people, and that was okay. It was comforting to know that you could always call for backup when you were patrolling a rough neighborhood in the middle of the night. Huntress could understand that. 

So far none of the new members were metahumans, and they were all baffled by both Question and the fact that secret identities weren’t really a ‘thing’ when visiting the base. Several people had asked Huntress if they were out of their minds making Question their so-called leader. Why not Oracle? She basically ran the network anyway. Huntress just smiled and didn’t try to explain why they saw Q’s reluctance to lead as one of his best qualities. None of the new members had known any of the Lords before they were Lords – they probably wouldn’t understand. 

 

Someone had abandoned a pullout couch on a street corner in Star City. Green Arrow had obligingly dragged it back to the base. It was decently comfortable. 

Huntress was currently stretched out on the pullout bed of the couch next to Question. Question was sound asleep after Huntress had finally dragged him away from another of his research binges. The only reason they weren’t back at their apartment napping was because that was where the Conspiracy Board lived and that would just set Question off again. Huntress was using Q as a pillow, and watching two of their newest members – Vigilante and Shining Knight – play cards. Shining Knight had a terrible poker face. Nightwing had put the mats down and was running through a solo warmup routine before heading out to patrol. 

_Rap, rap._

Nightwing paused. 

“Was that our door? Do we actually still have a door? I don’t think we’ve used it since we got the teleporters working.” 

Huntress pushed herself up on her elbows and un-holstered her crossbow. Vigilante had put down him cards and was holding a pistol in each hand. Nightwing cautiously edged to the door and checked the peephole that Huntress had never even noticed that they had. He frowned and then started to undo the dozen or so padlocks and deadbolts that were keeping the door shut because… yeah, Q was paranoid like that. 

There was a person standing on the other side of the door. Or possibly it was a pile of laundry wearing tinted goggles – it was hard to tell. The possibly-human-but-maybe-not had its arms raised placatingly. 

“Listen,” came a muffled voice, “I know that nobody is really keen on metas at the moment, but… I’ve got nowhere else to go.” The goggles were pulled up to reveal green eyes surrounded by bright green skin. 

“ _Gar?!_ ” yelped Nightwing in surprise. 

“ _Robin?!_ ” Green eyes widened in equal surprise. 

“Actually, I go by Nightwing these days.” 

“Who cares? I found you!” 

“Yeah, you did! And you’re still alive!” This was followed by a great deal of hugging.

Huntress holstered her crossbow again and flopped back down. Question stirred. 

“’d som’in happen?” he mumbled, not really awake. 

“It’s fine. I’ll tell you about it later. Go back to sleep.”

 

Car headlights traced patterns on the ceiling. Helena watched them. Her head was resting on Vic’s chest. His fingers were running absently through her hair. It was peaceful in a way that she never could have imagined only a few years ago. When she was younger, she’d never been able to envision anything like this. A future where she was content… happy. Then the Lords had come to power, and she’d thought that she would have no future at all. It was strange how things turned out. 

With one finger, Helena traced the bruise just below Vic’s heart that would have been a bullet hole if he hadn’t been wearing his Kevlar vest. Vic caught her fingers and brought them to his lips – he did romantic best when he wasn’t fully awake. 

“Love you,” he murmured. 

She smiled. 

“Love you, too.” 

Maybe this wasn’t a future that she ever could have imagined, but Helena wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to end it here, but then Historyman 14 and Tie-Dyed Trickster over on ff.net asked some questions that I didn't have the answers to, yet. Now it's percolating in my brain. In short, would you like to read more about the Phoenix Corps? Then please ask questions and make comments! They make the author think!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phoenix Corps continues to grow.

Huntress stepped off the base’s teleportation pad and pulled off her mask with a sigh. Thank god it was Friday. Well, technically Saturday now. Either way, nobody was expecting her to show up in a classroom in the morning. 

“Hey, Helena.” Barbara waved from the computer terminal she was set up at. “No Q with you tonight?” 

“Nah, Riddler snatched him again,” Helena sighed, because she would have really liked to be able to use Q as a pillow right now. She flopped down on one of the beanbags that a new member had brought in. It was more comfortable than the folding metal chairs and closer than the couch. It was also an unfortunate shade of neon orange. Helena was doing her best to ignore that. 

“It’s not second Tuesday, yet,” Barbara frowned. “I put it on the schedule this time and everything.”

“Wait! Are ya sain’ some masked criminal dun kidnapped the Question?” yelped Vigilante. His eyes were wide above his bandana. He’d just been on his way out. Several of the other newer members were looking alarmed as well. Helena frowned at them. 

“It’s just the Riddler,” she shrugged, not certain what they were making such a fuss about. 

“Wasn’t the Riddler part of Gotham’s original Rogues Gallery?” asked Stargirl incredulously. Helena really wished that the others would loosen up enough to leave their masks off more often. She had to keep reminding herself that trust took time. 

“Yeah. He probably just had a sudden need to discuss literature again. Or someone to try his new anagrams on. At least it wasn’t date night this time.” 

“I thought you and Question were dating. Aren’t you worried?” Stargirl had that look on her face that implied that she thought Helena was completely nuts. 

Helena snorted. 

“It’s just Riddler. The worst he’s going to do is tie Q up so they can have another crossword competition. He’s still sore that Q won the last one.” 

“Crossword competition?” Vigilante sounded confused. 

“Yeah. Sometimes Riddler comes up with theoretical crime sprees and accompanying puzzles for Q to solve. It’s always been more about the intellectual challenge than the actual crimes for him apparently.” Helena looked up from pulling off one of her long gloves to find a semicircle of disbelieving faces staring down at her. “What?” 

“You’re telling us,” Stargirl began slowly, “that one of Gotham’s oldest masked villains regularly kidnaps Question, our _leader_ , so that they can do crosswords together.” 

“Yup,” Barbara confirmed. 

“And you’re all _okay_ with this?!” Stargirl didn’t quite screech, but it was close. 

“Riddler hasn’t so much as held up a bank in over a year, and he always gives him back within four or five hours unless Q gets started on the Conspiracy,” Helena shrugged. “And he’s stopped chloroforming Q when he kidnaps him.” 

“Plus, he has learned to respect the sanctity of date night,” Barbara added. 

“True,” Helena agreed with a small, sharp smile. Riddler had _definitely_ learned his lesson on that front.

The semicircle of vigilantes just gaped at her. Honestly, newbies. 

 

In the wake of the Lords, nobody had been prepared for Lois Lane. She had burst forth from the solitary confinement that she had been forced into with a new determination and a lingering grief behind her eyes. The mass media had been all but obliterated by the Lords, so Lois had started her own newspaper, the Free Press. The Daily Planet had offered to take her back, but she had refused. Too many bad memories, she said. She hadn’t explained what she meant. 

The Free Press was something fresh and new and almost painfully honest, but after all the lies and suppression, that was what people had wanted. Its goal was to spread accurate information to as many people as possible. People could buy a subscription, pick a copy up for free at the grocery store, or read it online. Lois Lane had gone from being reasonably well-known to famous. There was no paparazzi to harass her, though – they hadn’t survived the first two months of the Lords’ domain, and people were too busy focusing on making it from day to day now to care what so called ‘celebrities’ did. 

Which was why Helena a) had no forewarning that Lois Lane was in Gotham, and b) was taken completely off guard when she opened her apartment door at 2 o’clock on a Sunday afternoon to find Lois Lane standing there. 

Helena stared at her for a moment in shocked silence. Maybe that blow to the head she had taken last night really _had_ given her a concussion. 

“Can I help you?” she finally managed. She and Vic had only woken up about an hour ago. It had been a long night. 

Lois smiled. 

“I’m Lois Lane. I was hoping I could talk to Victor.” 

Maybe she was still asleep, and this was all a really weird dream. 

“Vic, you’ve got a visitor!” Helena called over her shoulder. If she’d been concerned about safety, she would have said ‘guest’ instead. 

Vic appeared from the kitchen. His button up was still hanging open and loose over his under shirt. He stopped when he saw who was at the door. 

“Lois? What are you doing here?” 

Lois grinned and winked at him. 

“Head hunting you. I heard you were working for the Gotham Daily these days, and I hate to see talent go to waste.” 

“You could have phoned.” 

Lois shrugged. 

“I prefer to get out and do things in person these days. See the world. Being locked up does that to you.” Her tone was almost too casual and for a moment shadows flickered behind her eyes, then they were gone. Helena supposed that being held captive for two years by the man you had once loved would do that to you. 

“You two know each other?” Helena asked, raising an eyebrow at Vic. He’d never mentioned that. 

“Went to the same school for journalism,” Vic shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Knowing him, he probably honestly didn’t think it was. “Both wrote for the school paper.” 

Helena caught Vic’s fingers briefly flicker into the sign language position for safe, and she stood aside to let Lois in. Thank god Vic kept the Conspiracy Board in the spare room under a sheet. They didn’t usually have guests who weren’t from the Corps.

“I was a senior when he was a freshman,” Lois explained. “Not many freshmen come in writing that well, so I kept in touch. We helped each other out on a couple of stories over the years, but we lost track of each other after, well….” The Lords, Lois’s confinement, Vic losing his job, the destruction of Hub City. Lois didn’t need to say the words – Helena knew what she meant. “Anyway,” Lois continued, “I’ve finally tracked you down, and I’m always looking for people I can trust to work for me. What do you say?” 

“But I live in Gotham. The Free Press is out of Central City.” 

Lois shrugged. 

“We’re opening a small branch office here. You wouldn’t have to move.” 

“But-” 

“Just think about it.” Lois produced a business card from somewhere around her person like a magic trick. Vic accepted it hesitantly. 

 

“We need someone patrolling in Metropolis.” Barbara was using her Oracle voice, and that was never a good sign. “The crime rate is just getting worse. It’s almost as bad as Gotham.” 

Team meetings were open to anyone who wanted to attend. They shifted around what days of the week they were held since there was no one day that worked with everybody’s schedule. The only rule was that Question had to be there. This wasn’t Q’s rule – it was everyone else’s. He was the one with the veto power, so he needed to be there to stop stupid ideas before they got too far off the ground. Question said that they were all adults and should be able to make decisions for themselves, and why hadn’t they made somebody else their leader, yet? He showed up to the meetings anyway. 

_Nobody’s willing to take over patrolling Metropolis_ , signed Black Canary. 

“Tis true,” agreed Shining Knight. “The people there no longer take kindly to our kind.” 

“Gotham warmed up to us eventually,” Huntress pointed out. 

“Aye, but Gotham never loved the Batman the way Metropolis loved Superman.” 

“They’re desperate though. Can’t go on like this much longer. Have to do something.” Q was rubbing his thumb and forefinger together the way he did when he was contemplating a problem. 

“We’re spread thin as it is,” Green Arrow put in. “Everybody already has their own fulltime patrol. We’re a network. It’s not like we can just reassign somebody.” 

“We could try doing a rotation,” Nightwing suggested. “Various members agree to take one night every now and again to patrol Metropolis instead of their normal area. We can make a schedule. We have enough people that nobody should have to patrol there more than twice a month.” 

“That might work,” Green Arrow nodded.

“They’re not going to trust anyone who seems too metahuman.” Stargirl was twisting her staff between her hands nervously. Even though she wasn’t a metahuman, the powers her staff gave her still scared a lot of people. Sometimes civilians threw things at her instead of being grateful. The gash on her thigh from where someone had managed to hit her with a broken bottle was still healing. “We don’t want to incite more riots.” 

“Good point.” Nightwing put a comforting hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. 

“Volunteers only,” Q stated decisively. “We’re not going to force anyone to do this.” 

 

“Hey, kiddo, move.” Huntress gave Gar a sharp poke in the side. He let out a groan. 

“I’m not a kid! Stop calling me that.” 

“You’re twenty-three which makes you our youngest member. You’re stuck with it. Deal with it.” 

“What’s got you in such a grumpy mood?” he grumbled. 

“Your feet are blocking the coffee machine.” 

“Q says that they coat coffee beans with a chemical that makes you more susceptible to mind control,” Gar told her as he move his legs out of her way. 

“Q is also a massive hypocrite,” she informed him, “because he adores coffee.” 

“Liking something does not make it any less bad for you,” Question called from where he was ensconced at a computer terminal. Printouts and newspaper clippings littered the floor around him. 

Huntress simply signed something rude at him with one hand because talking took _way_ too much effort. 

Gar yawned widely, shifted into a green cat, and curled up into a more comfortable position to go back to sleep. Huntress did her best not to flinch at the sight. She liked Gar (or Beast Boy or Changeling or whatever he was calling himself), and she knew he was nothing like the Lords. The Flash had been a good man after all. And Batman had proved that you didn’t have to be a metahuman to go mad with power. But sometimes it was still hard. They had been lucky, though, with getting Gar as their first (and currently only) metahuman member. Gar was outgoing, friendly, easy to like. It made it easier to squash down the lingering twinges of distrust that the Lords had left behind.

 

Helena was contemplating murder. It sounded like a very appealing idea and the best way of dealing with the chiming communicator on her bedside table. She finally managed to grab the blasted thing on her third flail. 

“I hate you,” she told the person on the other end by way of greeting. 

“Have you seen the latest addition of the Free Press, yet?” Barbara asked, ignoring Helena’s statement. 

“It’s 6am, Babs. Some of us cannot subsist on caffeine alone. I went to bed _less than two hours ago_. NO, I have not seen the paper.” 

“They ran an article on the Phoenix Corps.” 

“WHAT?!?” Helena screeched, the sudden shot of adrenaline sending her bolt upright in bed. Next to her Vic groaned and stirred but didn’t wake. The man could sleep through a tornado if he put his mind to it. She started poking him in the side with one finger. 

“I tried to call Q, but his communicator’s off,” Barbara was saying. 

“Yeah, that’s because he remembered that he actually needs to sleep like the rest of us mere mortals,” Helena muttered, not really paying attention. Damn it, Vic was going to wake up and suffer through this bad news _with her_. 

“Wha’z it?” Vic mumbled cracking open an eye. He hadn’t had enough sleep, yet, to erase the dark circles he got under his eyes from being up for thirty hours straight. 

“Your boss published an article on the Phoenix Corps.” 

“Oh…. ‘Kay.” He rolled over, apparently intent on going back to sleep. 

“What?! This is bad, Vic!” 

“Were gonna find out ‘bout us event’lly. Nobody’s dead. Nothin’s on fire. ‘Sall good.” He went back to sleep. Helena didn’t smother him with her pillow, but it was very close. 

 

There was surprisingly little public outcry against the Phoenix Corps. They had no space station. They had almost no metahuman members. They weren’t overly showy. One of their original members, Black Canary, had publically stood in opposition to the Lords and suffered for it. They were helping the heavily overworked police force. With a broken economy and judicial system, people were in desperate need of hope. Perhaps it was the name that appealed them so much. It seemed that everyone could use a little phoenix fire to rekindle their lives. The Phoenix Corps was an idea that people could grasp onto. Even after all that had happened, there were still some brave souls who were willing to rise up against the darkness and slay the monsters.

There were some protesters, but then there always were. No additional riots broke out in the streets. 

Huntress, Question, and all the rest of the original members had been baffled by the article the Free Press had run. It had used the word ‘heroes’ and none of them had thought of themselves as heroes in a long time. They still didn’t. Heroes would have been able to stand against the Lords. They were just vigilantes. 

 

“I don’t see why _I_ have to be the one to make the public statement,” Green Arrow grumbled, glaring at the others. “Why can’t Q do it? He’s our leader, after all.” 

“Don’t have a face.” Question sounded smug. 

“You do _so_ have a face!” Green Arrow snapped. “That’s just a mask you’re wearing!” 

_He would still scare people_ , Black Canary signed. _That’s not a good way to start our public image. Besides, I’ll be with you._

“You’re also the one of us who’s most used to dealing with the press,” Nightwing added. He was carving another curlicue into the tabletop with a bird-a-rang. They really needed a new table that had less graffiti on it and was a bit bigger. Team meetings were starting to get kind of crowded as more members began making the effort of showing up. Unfortunately, that cost money. Maybe they could pass the hat around at the next meeting – start a collection or something. 

“You’re our best choice, Arrow, so quit complaining already.” Huntress leaned back and stretched her arms. 

Green Arrow scowled. 

“Fine, but if Atlantis or anybody aside from the press ever decide they want to talk to us, I’m not doing it.” 

_Nobody’s heard from Atlantis since they made that truce with the Lords_. Black Canary’s expression was bitter as she signed. _They don’t care what’s happening on the surface. I doubt we’ll ever hear from them again._

“Yeah, don’t worry – we’ll leave all matters of diplomacy to Q, if anything does happen,” Nightwing grinned. 

“Sounds like a terrible idea,” grumbled Question. 

 

Stopping a random mugging had not really been in the plans for the night, but then stopping random muggings never was. 

Huntress paused on the edge of the rooftop as she heard the commotion down below. 

“It’s empty!” 

“I’m a college scholarship student! What did you expect?!” A young woman’s voice. She sounded frightened. 

Huntress peered down carefully. A man was holding a young, blonde woman at gun point. Her hair was cut in a chin-length bob, and she wore a Gotham University sweatshirt. Poor kid looked terrified. The man was waving a wallet at her with his free hand. Huntress pulled out her crossbow and aimed carefully. 

One shot knocked the gun out of the man’s hand and sent it spinning away into the dark of the alley. Huntress fired a grappling line, leapt over the edge of the roof, and landed on top of him. He barely had time to squawk in protest before he was lying in an unconscious heap on the ground. Wimp. Question materialized at the mouth of the alley just as Huntress was standing up. It was one of his talents. 

The blonde college student had fallen to all fours and was breathing heavily. Huntress tossed Q a set of handcuffs. It always went better if _she_ dealt with the traumatized civilians, and Question handled the unconscious criminals. Traumatized people tended to only start screaming louder when confronted by a man who appeared to have no face. 

She knelt down in front of the trembling blonde. 

“Did he hurt you?” 

“No.” The blonde shook her head. The movement dislodged something that had been hanging around her neck. A simple silver chain slipped free of the collar of her sweatshirt. A small, stone pendant about the size of a nickel hung from the chain. It glowed green. Huntress was tempted to reach for it, but she had been doing this long enough to know better. 

“What’s that?” she asked instead. 

The blonde’s eyes widened with fear and guilt. 

“I-it’s my birthstone.” She let out a shaky, fake laugh. “I wear it for luck, ya know? Guess it didn’t really work….” She trailed off. Huntress raised an eyebrow. The kid was a terrible liar. 

“That’s kryptonite,” Question stated matter-of-factly. The blonde’s eyes started to water. “Why would you be wearing something like that? With Superman de-powered, it no longer serves any purpose. What are you using it for?” 

Huntress sighed, because Q’s sledgehammer-subtle interrogation techniques were really not appropriate for this situation.

The blonde’s eyes widened and for a moment they were old and tired and shadowed in a way that no young person’s eyes should be. For a moment, Huntress could see the weight of the entire world pressing down on the girl’s shoulders. She looked utterly and completely lost. Then she abruptly burst into tears like she simply couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“Please, just- Please don’t hurt me! I have to wear it! I _need_ to! I- I don’t want to be like my cousin! _I don’t want to turn into a monster!_ ” 

 

They hadn’t intended to keep Kara – it just sort of happened. There wasn’t a single person in the Corps who could convince her to take off her kryptonite necklace even for a second, but no one ever tried very hard. She wasn’t a vigilante. For her the base was a safe place – the only place she could completely relax. No one had known that Superman had a cousin. If anyone outside of the Corps ever found out, she would probably be killed.

“So what are you studying?” asked Gar, peering over Kara’s shoulder at her textbook. 

“Pre-med.” She made a few notes in her notebook and then turned the page. “Without my…. As long as I keep my necklace on, I’m not a very good fighter, but I still want to help people.” 

“That’s a good plan,” Barbara commented, wheeling her way over. “You don’t have to be out on the streets punching criminals to make a difference.” She glanced at Kara’s notes and gave an approving nod. “Why did you pick Gotham University, though? There are plenty of other schools with good medical programs closer to where you live.” 

Kara’s mouth turned down at the corners slightly and her pen stopped moving. 

“Stop being so nosy, Babs.” Helena plunked a fresh cup of coffee down in front of her friend, and Barbara eagerly accepted it. 

“It’s… alright.” Kara’s voice was soft. “I just… needed to get away. I know Ma and Pa aren’t upset with me, but after what Clark did…. I wanted to prove to them that I’m not going to turn out like that. They’re worried, because I used to look up to him.” 

No one had anything to say to that. 

 

“You didn’t know.” Question’s voice was quiet but deadly, arms crossed, shoulders tense. 

“The reports we received never indicated that anything was wro-” 

“Two years,” Huntress interrupted with a snarl. “Two _years_ he was using one of your rings to help subjugate an entire _planet_ , and you never even _bothered_ to check in on him?!” 

The first meeting between the Phoenix Corps and the Green Lantern Corps was not going well. 

“We have many members, and when one is deemed worthy of a ring-” 

“Oh, and you’ve _never_ made a mistake before. _Never_ had someone go bad before,” Green Arrow snapped. The Green Lantern bristled, his head scales standing on end. Arrow had obviously hit a sore spot. 

“I have simply come to notify you that another ring has been dispatched to your sector and to retrieve the damaged ring formerly in the possession of John Stewart. Where is John Stewart? I am to take him into custody so that he may be put on trial.” 

“Even if we knew, we wouldn’t tell you,” Huntress sneered. “When he’s found, he’ll face trial and punishment on Earth.” 

“Your species cannot hope to-” 

“Without his ring, he’s merely a man.” Question took a step forward and leaned into the Green Lantern’s personal space. In that moment, he looked every inch the leader he claimed not to be. “And we are _used_ to dealing with men. Get off our planet.” 

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea,” Kara asked hesitantly. 

“Of course,” Dick patted her shoulder, “you’re small, female, and you live in Gotham. You look like a classic country gal. You’ve practically got ‘mug me’ tattooed on your forehead. Knowing basic self-defense is just a good thing to have in your bag on tricks. Along with a can of pepper spray or mace.” 

“We’re not saying you need to be able to keep up with Dinah,” Helena assured her as she finished laying out the training mats. “You just need to be able to throw a decent punch when you don’t have super strength or invulnerability to back you up. Your form is terrible.” 

“Don’t worry – a little bit of self-defense knowledge isn’t going to turn you into a supervillain.” 

“Well, if you’re sure….” 

 

It was something of an open secret among the original six members that Bruce Wayne had once been Batman. When the Lords had taken over, he’d actually taken Nightwing’s costume away from him by force. Dick had the scars to prove it. Batman had also been the one who had finally turned against his fellow Lords and helped to stop them. That was the only reason they left him alone. Bruce’s guilty conscience was eating him alive – that was all the punishment he needed. 

Of the other former Lords, only three were accounted for: Superman, the Martian Manhunter, and Hawkgirl. They were all in prison and serving out multiple life sentences. Green Lantern and Wonder Woman had escaped and gone into hiding. Every country in the world was on the lookout for them. Nobody anticipated actually finding them – they didn’t have the resources for a manhunt. 

 

“This arrived today.” Helena raised an eyebrow at Barbara’s monotone. Her other eyebrow rose as Barbara’s image on the computer screen held up what looked like a digital watch. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s a holographic projector for Gar.” Barbara still didn’t sound enthusiastic. 

“Well, that’s good, right? You’ve been working on that for him for months.” Currently, the only job Gar could get was as a work-from-home telemarketer. He pretty much _lived_ on the upper floor of the base. His bright green skin still tended to inspire civilians to form lynch mobs. Generally, he partnered with one of the other members when he helped out on patrols for safety’s sake. The poor kid was going nuts. Helena was worried that depression would start setting in if something didn’t change soon. 

“Yeah, I have been,” Barbara scowled, “but _this_ isn’t the one I’ve been working on. Everything I’ve tried has been too bulky to be wearable, let alone practical. _He_ sent this one.” 

“Oh.” Helena felt her heart sink. Yeah, that was a problem. None of them were willing to accept Bruce’s help, but this was something that Gar _needed_ so that he could function as a normal human. Damn it. 

“I don’t want to let him have this,” Barbara whispered, “because I haven’t forgiven him. I don’t _want_ to forgive him. But Gar is going nuts staying cooped up all the time. Making him wait longer just because of my feelings would be cruel.” 

Helena was silent for a moment. She wasn’t the best person to be giving advice about this sort of thing, but she was the one who Barbara had called. 

“Giving that watch to Gar doesn’t mean that you’re forgiving him,” Helena began slowly, feeling her way through the words, “and it doesn’t mean that you have to accept anything else he tries to give you.” 

It wasn’t the answer either of them wanted to hear. They both would have been happier if they just could have given Bruce Wayne the finger and told him to shove his money and shiny gadgets where the sun don’t shine, but that wouldn’t help Gar. Sometimes you had to pick the lesser of two evils. 

 

Poker night had become a thing early on, though they always played for M&Ms instead of real money. (But never pretzel M&Ms because of reasons of Q and conspiracies.) Nobody could afford to lose cash. Well, Ollie’s company was starting to get back on its feet financially, but he was a lot more frugal than he used to be. Question had been banned from playing, because having no face at all was basically cheating when you were playing poker, and he kept winning too often. 

Tonight they were playing for peanut butter M&Ms, because it was Kara’s turn to bring the M&Ms, and those were her favorites. 

Vic was crashed on the pullout bed, sleeping off a chloroform hangover. Somebody aside from the Riddler had decided to try their hand at kidnapping the leader of the Phoenix Corps. It had not ended well for them. Q had managed to activate his distress beacon before he passed out. It had taken Oracle less than half an hour to notify, gather together, and dispatch seven very pissed off Corps members to retrieve him. They’d been very efficient about the whole thing. It had barely cut into poker night. 

Kara kept shooting Vic curious glances. Gar elbowed her gently in the side. 

“If you don’t start paying attention, you’re going to lose all you M&Ms.” 

She blushed and hung her head slightly. 

“Sorry, I just don’t think I’ve ever seen Q without his mask on before.” 

Helena snorted. 

“I’m not really surprised. He generally doesn’t like to take it off when we’re at the base.” 

“Yup,” Dick agreed. “Our paranoid leader is paranoid like that.” 

“And when he doesn’t have the mask on you can just call him Vic,” Helena added, realizing that Kara probably didn’t know. 

“What’s in that aerosol can of his?” Kara asked. “Even his clothes changed color!” 

“It’s best not to ask,” Helena told her. “Though I did get it tested to make sure it was non-toxic, and that he wasn’t poisoning himself.” 

“Really?” Ollie asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Helena rolled her eyes. 

“Of _course_. He is not keeling over dead or developing lung cancer on my watch. I got him to tweak the formula slightly to make it safer. Now stop trying to distract me from the awful hand you’ve been dealt and ante up already.”

There was a faint flash from the teleporter pad on the far side of the room. 

“Howdy, folks!” Vigilante stepped off the pad with the Crimson Avenger trailing behind him. “Glad to see we ain’t missed poker night, yet!” 

Greg and Lee (Vigilante and the Crimson Avenger respectively) were in the process of pulling off their masks when they paused by the sleeping Vic on the couch. 

“I do not recognize this gentleman,” Lee announced and turned to the others who were seated around the table. “Is he a new member?” 

Dick and Ollie burst out laughing. Dinah’s shoulders were shaking. Helena pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Nope. That’s Q. That’s what he looks like when he has a face.” 

“Well, I’ll be blowed,” muttered Greg, putting his hands on his hips. 

Lee looked doubtful. 

“But… his hair’s the wrong color.” 

 

This time Lois had actually called ahead instead of just dropping by unannounced which was why Helena was just taking a lasagna out of the oven when Lois arrived instead of still asleep. Lasagna was one of Helena’s specialties and that had nothing to do with her Italian heritage, _thank you very much, Dick_. (Vic was a dab hand with a wok, but asking him to do something that didn’t involve stir fry was just asking to set the apartment on fire again.) 

“That smells fantastic,” Lois announced as she kicked her high heels off by the door. “I didn’t realize I was getting lunch.” 

Helena shrugged. 

“I was in a lasagna mood,” she explained. 

“Hey Vic.” 

“Lois,” Vic nodded. “In Gotham for a story?” 

Just because Lois owned the Free Press didn’t mean that she had stopped being a reporter. Nobody in the world could tear Lois Lane away from journalism permanently.

“Sort of.” Lois gave him one of her charming smiles. “I hear that Gotham is home to two of the founding members of the Phoenix Corps. I’m hoping I can get an interview. The Corps is a lot shyer of the press than the Lords ever were.” 

Neither Vic nor Helena tensed up because they were both too experienced for that. Helena turned back to the lasagna to double check that it really was bubbling in the middle and reminded herself to keep her breathing even. Lois would notice if she panicked. Lois was also one of the only people to ever accurately discern Batman’s secret identity. Shit. 

“Really?” Vic was asking. His tone was slightly too casual. “I hadn’t heard.”

“Mmm. Apparently Huntress is pretty friendly with the GCPD. They like her better than they ever did the Bat. Nobody seems to know much about the Question, though. If push comes to shove, I’ll keep it to an interview with the police, but people want to know more.” 

 

Huntress had _really_ been hoping to avoid running into Lois Lane that night. Unfortunately, Lois had hitched a ride in one of the squad cars that had been dispatched to pick up the two art thieves Huntress had caught in the act. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. 

“Huntress? Lois Lane, Free Press. Do you have time to answer a few questions?” 

She wanted to answer with a loud, emphatic no and then flee with flailing arms, dignity be damned. Instead she heard her voice saying, 

“Of course, Ms. Lane.” 

The questions weren’t too painful or probing, just enquiring as to some basic information about the Phoenix Corps that hadn’t been covered by Green Arrow’s press release. Huntress just hoped that she hadn’t said anything that could be too badly misconstrued. She tried not to let her shoulders visibly relax when Lois finally flipped shut her notebook. 

“Well, thank you for your time,” Lois began. Then she leaned forward and added so softly that only Huntress could hear, “And thanks again for the lasagna this afternoon – it was great.” Huntress couldn’t help herself – her jaw gaped open. “Don’t worry. You’re not actually that easy to spot, but I figured out who Question was years ago. I know what signs to look for.” Lois gave her a parting wink and sauntered back to the waiting squad car, leaving Huntress still slack jawed behind her.

 

Kara and Helena were the only two people at the base. Well, aside from Q, but he was twelve hours into a research fog, so he didn’t really count. It was very late at night, or maybe just incredibly early in the morning. Helena was giving Question two more hours before she bodily dragged his ass home to make sure that he got some sleep. She and Kara were sitting with their feet dangling over the edge of the split-level second floor. Neither of them had spoken in a while. 

“I used to look up to him, you know.” Kara’s words came out of nowhere, unprompted. “I wanted- I wanted to be just like him. I was going to wear a red cape and have the symbol on my chest and fly around saving people just like him. I was going to call myself ‘Supergirl.’ Ma was helping me make my own cape. I was almost done with it. I was so excited, because he’d always told me that when I turned sixteen I’d be old enough to help him. I couldn’t wait.” Kara was staring straight ahead. Her voice was dull, but there were no tears. “It all sounds so stupid now. Three days before my birthday he assassinated President Luther. None of us wanted to believe it when we heard, because it was _Clark_. And then he showed up at my birthday party like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t killed a man in cold blood and helped to subjugate America’s military in a matter of days.” Kara fell silent again, staring sightlessly off into the middle distance. 

Helena was quiet for a moment, waiting to see if she had anything else to add. Kara didn’t speak again. 

“I… used to work with Batman.” This caught Kara’s attention, and she turned her head to look at Helena. “I was young. Mostly driven by pure rage and vengeance. He straightened me out a bit. That’s how I met Dick, Barbara, and Dinah originally, though we were just passing acquaintances back then. I trusted him. I… hadn’t trusted anybody in years, not even myself. Even after we all went our separate ways, I always knew that he would be in Gotham doing the right thing. Then Superman went rogue, but I wasn’t worried, because Batman had a contingency plan for _everything_. He’d stop him no problem – he probably just needed some time to execute it. So I waited. Kept doing my thing. And things kept getting worse. Batman kept doing nothing. Then Dinah was rendered mute on national news. Dinah had been one of _his_ , and he just stood back and let Superman do it.” Something deep inside Helena’s chest still ached at the memory. 

“Aren’t you the one who started the Phoenix Corps?” asked Kara, surprised. “How could you trust anybody enough to work with them after something like that?” 

Helena scratched her nose and shrugged. 

“It’s not like either of us ever anticipated the Corps happening. It was never supposed to be more than just me and Question. Besides, Q looked practically homeless the first time I met him. Aw, hell.” Helena paused and thought and then called in a louder voice, “Hey, Q! Did you have your apartment, yet, when I first met you?” 

“No,” came the distracted response. “Didn’t have the money. Found a job and apartment shortly after stopping that chemistry professor. Still had my laptop.” 

Helena frowned, but she wasn’t really surprised by this revelation. She’d suspected as much. Even now, Vic still hadn’t quite managed to get back up to what most considered a ‘healthy’ weight. The Kevlar he wore under his clothes made him look bulkier and broader than he really was.

“So, yeah, Q was homeless but still doing his data wizardry thing, and I was… overwhelmed. It was like trying to plug up a leaking dam with my fingers. I needed help.” And perhaps… she had been just a little bit lonely. The ‘Bat Clan’ had never been a family, never been as close knit as the Phoenix Corps, but Helena had missed the comradery, the support. “Working with Q seemed like my best option. It was working out pretty well, too, until I ran into Nightwing, and it all snowballed into this mess.” Helena laughed, because, yeah, things definitely hadn’t gone to plan, but overall it was probably better this way. She’d always preferred laughing to crying anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't necessarily the last you'll be seeing of the Phoenix Corp - I'm working on another chapter at the moment - so please keep asking questions! They make the author think. :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Fitting Broken Pieces

“I’M EMPLOYED!!!” 

Helena jolted awake from her half doze over the keyboard as Gar came bounding into the base. His holographic projector was still on so he was currently brunet with pale skin and no slightly elongated canines. He did a victory lap around the first floor of the base with his arms in the air. 

“This new form of employment pleases you, then?” asked Sir Justin (Shining Knight) from where he was busily polishing his armor until it gleamed properly. “It excites you more than your previous occupation?” 

Gar stopped, put his hands on his hips, and grinned broadly. 

“I’m going to get to interact with real, live _people_!” he announced. Then he deflated slightly. “It’s not the best thing in the world. I’m basically just going to be a receptionist. But,” he brightened up again, “I’m going to be a receptionist in a _vet’s office_. And it’s fulltime!” Gar switched off his holographic projector and continued to shimmy his victory dance around the room. 

 

The team meeting was winding down, and it was staggering just how crowded these things were getting. Then again, most people had an easier time getting to them when they were held on a Saturday. They had actually finally started a collection for a bigger table. 

“Anything else anybody wants to add before we call it a night?” Huntress asked, rolling her stiff shoulders. 

“I have a quick question for everybody,” Nightwing announced. Huntress eyed him warily, because Nightwing’s sense of humor was notorious. “Show of hands: how many of you have actually seen what Q looks like without his mask?” 

Only about half the members present raised their hands, which was pretty sad considering that all six of the original members where there.

“He really does have a face?” somebody called jokingly. This was met by a round of laughter. 

“Okay, yeah. That’s just sad and unacceptable.” Nightwing stood, put one hand on his hip and pointed the other at Question. “Time for some show-and-tell, Q.” 

Next to Huntress, Q’s shoulders tensed up. 

“What?! No!” 

“Come on – you’ve seen all them without their masks on. It’s only fair.” Nightwing made grabby hands at Question. This promptly devolved into Nightwing chasing Q in circles around the table. It looked like something out of an old slapstick cartoon. Obviously neither of them were taking this too seriously. 

“Uh, is this okay?” Stargirl asked, leaning in to speak to Huntress softly. “I know Q is very private, and I’d never want to force another phoenix to-” 

“Don’t worry,” Huntress reassured her. “If he really wasn’t okay with this, Q would be reminding ‘Wing that the arrows I use are the pointy kind that put holes in you. ‘Wing would never do something like this if Q wasn’t okay with it.” 

Stargirl didn’t look particularly convinced, but that was fine. 

After another five laps of the table (‘Wing wasn’t trying very hard), Nightwing finally caught Question in an impressive flying tackle aided by Green Arrow sticking his foot out at just the right moment. The tackle was met by a round of applause. 

Nightwing dragged Question to the head of the table. Question didn’t struggle, just crossed his arms and went limp, because hauling deadweight was a pain. Nightwing made an annoyed sound, and Huntress knew that underneath his mask Question was smirking.

“Aw, come on!” Nightwing protested. “Alright, everybody – masks off! Our paranoid leader is shy.” Dick pulled off his mask along with everyone else in the room. He held out a hand. “Alright, Q, hand it over. Unless you desperately want me digging through the contents of your pockets.” 

Question obligingly pulled out his can of aerosol but didn’t pass it to Dick. 

“I can take off my own mask, thank you very much.” 

“Aw,” Dick whined dramatically, clutching at his chest. “It was gonna be like a magic trick! I was going to get Babs to be my beautiful assistant and everything.” 

Question casually stepped down hard on Dick’s instep and began applying the aerosol as Dick screeched in pain. Several people around the room made surprised noises at the coloration changes. Vic peeled back his mask with practiced ease. 

“There. Does that satisfy everyone’s curiosity?” he asked, ignoring Ollie’s catcalls with ease. 

 

“Ugh.” Kara let her head fall onto her folded arms. “I hate that I have to take a ‘well rounded’ selection of courses.” 

Helena eyed the papers and textbooks scattered across the meeting table. They surrounded Kara like a small, papery mountain range. 

“What’s all this for?” 

“Professor Nigma’s class. Metaphor, Rhyme and Figurative Language in English Literature. He’s a really interesting lecturer, but his course load is beastly. If I didn’t need the English credit, I’d drop the course and just audit it instead. Essay writing isn’t really my thing.” 

Helena leafed through some of Kara’s notes. She may have only been in pre-med, but she certainly had the handwriting to be a doctor. Years of grading papers, however, had made Helena fairly adept at reading horrible handwriting. 

“How long does the essay need to be?” 

“Three thousand words minimum,” Kara groaned, head still on the table. 

“Well, it sounds like you have some good ideas.” 

“Yeah, but I need academic, peer-reviewed sources to back up my ideas. I’m an undergrad – I’m not allowed to have original thoughts.” 

Helena put down Kara’s notes. 

“What did you say your professor’s name was?” 

“Professor Nigma.” 

Helena frowned. 

“Now why does that name sound familiar?” she mused, putting her hands on her hips. 

“Edward Nigma. Alias the Riddler. Has more or less given up crime in favor of pursuing his doctorate and writing scathing but insightful peer reviews of other academics’ work,” Q rattled off without even looking up from his computer terminal across the room. 

“What?!” Kara yelped, bolting upright. “Professor Nigma is the _Riddler_?!?” She held her head in her hands. “Oh, god, I’m never going to be able to sit through another lecture without picturing him covered in question marks and spandex.” 

 

Ollie and Dinah were sparring. Which really meant that Ollie and Dinah were having very violent, public foreplay. It was alarming, and if she possibly could, Helena always tried not to be there to witness it. Voyeurism was really not her thing. Today, unfortunately, her timing had been off, and now she was trapped along with Barbara. The teleporters were currently down while the last of the updates finished downloading. 

“Ya know,” Barbara commented, “If Dick and I decided to make out on the couch, people would complain.” 

“Yup,” Helena agreed. 

“I’d say they’re corrupting young minds, but Kara isn’t here, and she comes to poker night anyway,” Barbara mused. 

“It never ceases to impress me how flexible Dinah is,” Helena muttered, trying desperately to focus on the book she was reading, but morbid curiosity kept drawing her eye back.

“Never fear, ladies,” Gar announced grandly. He puffed up his chest and struck a dramatic pose. “I have a plan.” Helena and Barbara each raised an eyebrow at him, and his grin widened.

Gar shifted into a green monkey and shot up an I-beam to the base’s split second level. Helena put down her book, crossed her arms and waited. This ought to be good. 

It was. 

The red water balloon sailed through the air in a beautiful, graceful arc. It almost seemed to hover for a moment like it had wings keeping it aloft. Then smacked into the back of Ollie’s head. 

_SPLOOSH!_

Two more water balloons followed closely in the first’s wake. One impacted on Dinah’s shoulder while the other exploded across the floor. 

There was an appreciative round of applause from Helena, Barbara, and all the other trapped onlookers. 

“DAMN IT, GAR!” yelled a bedraggled Ollie while Dinah pushed damp hair out of her face and signed out exactly how she planned to eviscerate the shapeshifter when she caught him. 

 

Vic still seemed eternally baffled by physical displays of affection. Especially when they were directed towards him. It was like he still couldn’t quite conceptualize people genuinely enjoying being around him, but he soaked up anything he was given like a vaguely confused sponge. The original members of the Corps already knew this, but now that Vic was comfortable enough to be at the base without his mask on more often, the newer members were starting to notice as well. 

It was all very casual. The occasional touch to the arm or shoulder. A pat on the back. Sometimes a hug. (Stargirl was very big on hugs. Nobody minded. They all needed more hugs in their lives.) And through it all Vic just looked happily confused. 

 

Huntress had never expected to meet Wonder Woman in the flesh. And she really hadn’t expected it to be because Wonder Woman’s mother – Queen Hippolyta – and an entourage of other warriors from Themyscira had dragged her back to ‘Man’s World’ by the hair. And Huntress meant that literally. Queen Hippolyta really did have ahold of her daughter by the hair and looked absolutely enraged. 

The thing that Huntress found confusing, though, was the part where several governments had actually _requested_ the presence of Phoenix Corps representatives for this. They’d even asked for Question specifically. It had been weird. These people knew that they worked out of a warehouse, right? Huntress wasn’t certain what the point was, but she sure as hell wasn’t letting Q go on his own. Black Canary, Green Arrow, Vigilante, and the Crimson Avenger had volunteer to come as well. They were all wearing their phoenix emblems so that they were displayed prominently. 

“We have come to make reparations!” Hippolyta practically bellowed. She was resplendent in her brilliant golden armor. For some reason she seemed to be focusing mainly on the Corps members. “My daughter was sent here to be an ambassador of peace and instead she brought destruction and pain. Her powers have been taken from her, and she has been stripped of the armaments she is no longer worthy to bare, but she is still an Amazon and will live many mortal life times. To that end, I present her here, so that she may pay for her crimes in Man’s World before she pays for them again in Themyscira.” Wonder Woman had already been on her knees with her head bowed, but a flick of Queen Hippolyta’s wrist sent her crashing to all fours. “Our only condition is that she not be killed. She must not escape punishment by fleeing to the underworld.” 

“Your request is fair,” spoke up one of the chosen spokesmen. “None of the other Lords we have captured have been put to death. We shall write up an agreement.” 

Hippolyta nodded her consent. Then she turned and purposefully caught Black Canary’s eye. 

“You are one of those injured.” It was a statement, not a question. Black Canary dipped her chin in confirmation. “And you wish to speak with her.” Another nod. “Very well then.” Hippolyta took a step back from her daughter. Canary vaulted over the table she was seated behind. Green Arrow followed her. Wonder Woman looked up for the first time. 

Canary crouched in front of Wonder Woman, pulled down her black choker to fully display her scars, then let it fall back into place and began to sign. Arrow translated for her, speaking the words her hands were forming. 

_Once, I thought you were someone to admire, someone I could work with, but in the end you turned out to be more spineless and pathetic than I could ever imagine. Your hand did not murder, but it did destroy. You stood idly by as he killed and maimed. Out of all of them, you had the power to stay his hand, but instead you helped to strike down those of us who protested. You stood idly by as he stole my friends and stole my voice. But I forgive you, because a creature as pathetic as you isn’t even worth my hate. After what you have done, not even a hundred lifetimes of penance could give you back your worth._

Black Canary straightened up again and in front of her, Wonder Woman seemed to deflate, steadily becoming smaller and smaller.

Helena merely murmured, “Eloquant,” as Black Canary rejoined the rest of the Corps. 

_I’ve given it a lot of thought,_ Canary signed. Her face was grim.

 

“Hey, Helena, can I, um, talk to you for a minute?” Kara was shifting nervously back and forth from foot to foot. 

Helena glided smoothly through her strike against an invisible opponent and then straighten and collapsed her bo staff. 

“Sure. What do you need?” 

Kara looked down, twisting her hands together. 

“You and Vic live in Gotham, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Could I- Would it be too much trouble if- I mean, would it be alright if I stayed with you two over spring break?” 

Helena blinked. That was definitely not what she had been expecting. 

“Pardon?” 

“I mean, I don’t want to be any trouble! I’d sleep on the couch and provide my own meals and everything. I swear I wouldn’t get under foot – you’d barely even see me.” 

“Woah! Calm down. Why do you want to stay with me and Vic?” 

“I just… don’t want to go home.” Kara looked ashamed. Her shoulders sagged. “It sounds awful, but it feels like… Ma and Pa don’t see me anymore. All they see when they look at me is Clark. It feels like they’re always waiting for me to…. I know they don’t mean to, but it hurts. When I’m in Gotham, I can just be me.” 

Helena had no words for that, so she pulled her into a hug instead. She was still sweaty and sticky from her workout, but Kara didn’t seem to mind. 

“I’ll talk to Vic. It shouldn’t be a problem.” Helena pulled back and added in a more lighthearted tone, “Just don’t mess with the Conspiracy Board. He takes that personally.” 

Kara rewarded her attempt at levity with a small smile. 

“Thank you.” 

 

The thing to remember when patrolling Metropolis was to have your Phoenix Corps emblem somewhere obvious and visible. Even when it was pouring rain. 

Huntress scowled. Just her luck. Not even two hours into her night for patrolling Metropolis, and she was already pretty much soaked through. She obviously needed to re-waterproof her cape. 

She didn’t like patrolling Metropolis even when it wasn’t raining. It was… depressing. The people of Metropolis had been rendered particularly jaded and depressed by the rise of the Lords. They had loved Superman, and he had betrayed them all. At least they had stopped throwing things at vigilantes so long as they were wearing the Phoenix Corps emblem. 

On the one hand, the rain was miserable and cold. On the other hand, most of the criminals were choosing to stay in for the night rather than brave the awful weather. Hopefully, Huntress would be able to cut her patrol short tonight before she developed pneumonia. Fingers crossed. Or maybe she’d at least get called back to Gotham for some reason, where it wasn’t raining. 

She could survive this just so long as the water didn’t leak into her boots. 

_Squelch._

Water was leaking into her boots. 

Huntress reminded herself that randomly shooting arrows at the alley wall would be a waste of arrows even if it would make her feel better. Her hair was falling out of the braid she’d pulled it back into before she’d left that night. She pushed a damp clump of said hair behind her ear and prayed for the night to hurry up and be _over_ already. 

There was a stirring of air in the alley where Huntress was seeking temporary shelter from the rain, and suddenly she wasn’t alone anymore. 

A kid was standing in front of her. He looked to be about Gar’s age with a flame of brunet hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. He was wearing a red hoodie and ragged, fading jeans.

“You’re with the Phoenix Corps, right?” 

Huntress plucked at the phoenix emblem on the left side of her chest and bit back the first three “no shit, Sherlock” comments that came to mind, because this kid was obviously a metahuman. The fact that he’d even dared to come out of hiding to talk to her was impressive. There was still no word from the magic user community. Nobody was even sure if any of them had survived. 

“Yup. The name’s Huntress. And you are?” 

“I used to go by Impulse. I was… kinda the Flash’s understudy.” He scuffed one sneaker against the ground and shoved his hands into his kangaroo pocket. “I wanna start helping people again, but… I don’t want to scare them ‘cause I’m a meta. And the Free Press said that the Corps doesn’t just take non-powers….” 

 

Impulse’s name was Bart Allen, and he had a prosthetic knee. Superman had blown out the original with his heat vision when Bart had tried to honor his mentor’s memory and took a stand against the rising Lords. Superman had informed him that if he tried to do anything against the Lords again, he’d simply cut his entire leg off the next time. Bart had been lucky and with the prosthetic his knee had healed well, but he still couldn’t run quite so fast as he used to. 

Bart was impish and charismatic. Gar was thrilled to have another meta aside from Kara in the Corps – especially one who shared his sense of humor. Bart was relieved to have somewhere where he could eat at a speed that was normal for him without tempting fate. He also volunteered to be a permanent second for the Metropolis patrol. He said that he wanted to help restore Metropolis’s faith in ‘heroes.’ Nobody had the heart to correct his terminology. 

Helena wondered what would happen if an older and less outgoing metahuman ever joined the Corps. Both Gar and Bart were easy to like and accept. Hopefully, they would ease the way for when a less personable meta finally joined their odd family. 

 

“’m fine!” 

“You have a fever of a hundred and one degrees, your cough medicine makes you so woozy that you can barely stand, when the cough medicine wears off you are coughing so hard that you throw up, and the doctor has already diagnosed you with bronchitis. You are _not_ ‘fine.’” Vic threw a blanket over Helena’s head to emphasize his point, and Helena flailed at it weakly. She hated being sick. “You are staying here – either in bed or on the couch. Kara, sit on her if she tries to get up and do anything more strenuous than watching television.” 

Kara gave him a mock salute. Helena doubted that this was how the kid had anticipated spending her spring break with them. 

“You can count on me.” 

“Traitor,” grumbled Helena. “I freaking hate Metropolis.” 

“I know.” Vic knelt down gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “There’s a couple of cans of soup out by the stove and more ginger ale in the fridge,” he informed Kara. “Do not let her turn on the police scanner.” 

Helena pouted. 

“You’re treating me like I’m eight. I don’t need a babysitter.” 

Vic raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I was there last time this happened. You had the flu and tried to suit up and leave for patrol via the fire escape. Twice.” 

Okay, yeah. So maybe she’d done that, and maybe that hadn’t been the best idea. And maybe she’d passed out halfway out the window the second time. But it’s not like that was going to happen _this_ time. …This time she wasn’t going to get caught, because she was just fine. 

Totally. 

“Don’t worry – I’ve got this,” Kara assured Vic. “I’ll just read her one of my textbooks, and she’ll be asleep in no time.” 

 

Dinah sprinted off the teleporter pad and tackled Helena in a hug. Helena let out a yelp of surprise as Dinah practically lifted her off the ground in her enthusiasm. She looked uncharacteristically happy. It wasn’t that Dinah didn’t smile a lot. It was just that she usually didn’t smile this big. She finally let go of Helena and started to sign frantically, her excitement making her sloppy. 

_I found him! I finally found-_ Dinah used a name sign that Helena didn’t catch. 

“Who?” 

“Wildcat,” Ollie clarified, following behind Dinah at a more sedate pace but still grinning broadly. “Dinah finally tracked him down.” 

“Seriously? You actually found him?” Helena asked incredulously. Dinah had been trying to locate her mentor, Ted Grant, for several years now. Dinah nodded vigorously. “That’s great! Where was he?” 

_The West Coast,_ Dinah signed. She couldn’t stop smiling. _He’s been running a gym._

 

Watching Dinah and Ted’s reunion was both wonderful and heartbreaking, because they were so happy and relieved to see each other… but he couldn’t understand a single word she signed. Ollie had to translate. Helena could see it in Ted’s eyes – he was crushed. 

“Don’t worry,” she murmured when Dinah finally stepped away for a moment. “We’ll teach you.” 

“I should have been there for her.” 

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things we all should have done. It’s too damn late for that. The important thing is that you’re there for her now.” 

 

Dick was giving Kara another lesson on the training mats while Helena, Barbara, and Mari watched. Mari had joined the Phoenix Corps along with Ted. She’d been training with him to be able to fight without relying on any help from the totem she no longer had. Green Lantern had crushed it to powder. 

“She’s not too bad,” Mari commented. “Her punches are awfully hesitant, though.” 

“Mmm,” Barbara agreed. Neither Barbara nor Helena felt inclined to explain why Kara was so terrified of fighting back. Mari was still a bit too new, and it wasn’t their story to tell anyway. Helena changed the subject. 

“So is that the outfit you’re going with?” she asked, indicating Mari’s bodysuit. It was a dark rusty orange with a hint of tiger stripe on the legs and back. Instead of sleeves, she wore long black gloves which ended in pointed claws. Black boots and a black utility belt completed the look. 

“Yeah. You like?” Mari stood and gave a small spin to show off. “Not exactly the same as before, but it makes me feel like my old Vixen self again.” 

“It looks good,” Barbara declared, though it was hard to imagine an outfit that _wouldn’t_ look good on Mari. She was like Dinah that way – she looked gorgeous no matter what. 

“Yeah.” Helena hesitated. “Do you have any Kevlar in that?” 

“Kevlar?” Mari sounded confused. “Why would I need Kevlar?” 

“So you don’t end up like me,” Barbara stated bluntly. “It’s sort of one of the few rules around here. If you don’t have armor or some sort of special power to protect you, you at least wear a chest plate.”

“We nearly lost Question less than a year in. After Crimson Avenger took a bullet to the chest, we decided to make it mandatory.” Helena didn’t like to remember either of those incidents. She still woke up from nightmares of her hands covered in Vic’s blood, and Lee had nearly bled out before they could get to him.

Mari sighed. 

“I guess that makes sense, but doesn’t it make fighting more awkward?” 

“Nah.” Helena flicked her own chest plate that she hadn’t bothered to take off, yet. “The new ones are pretty light a flexible. After a couple of spars to get used to fighting in one, you won’t even know the difference.” 

Helena didn’t miss the open panel design of her old costume that had exposed her stomach. She had come to terms with her own mortality a long time ago. 

 

Vic looked practically gray with exhaustion as he leaned into Helena’s side on their couch. 

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he whispered. 

Helena stared at the pages of information spread out on their coffee table. This was not what they had been hoping for. 

“You have to tell them.” 

“Obviously. Not what I meant.” 

“Tell them here, in private.”

 

“Dick, Gar, come in.” Vic’s shoulders were hunched and stiff, and he had three file folders clutched in his hand. Helena already knew what the folders contained. Vic had been working on this for weeks. Dick and Gar both looked hopeful but wary. 

“You found out what happened to the rest of the Titans then?” asked Gar. 

“Yes.” 

“It’s not good news, is it?” Dick’s voice was quiet and resigned. 

“Sit down.” Vic led them over to the couch. He set the files on the coffee table. There was a picture attached to each of them. Two young women and a man. 

“Just give it to us straight.” 

Vic sighed. 

“After being the victim of two major mobs, Cyborg fled north and has been hiding in Northwestern Canada. I’ve been able to narrow his location down to two possible areas. It appears that Starfire left the planet shorty before the Lords fell. And Raven,” Vic hesitated. “Raven was killed during a riot a month and a half after the Fall. I’m sorry.” 

“Rae… Rae’s dead?” whispered Gar. Vic simply nodded. 

“Yes.” He abruptly stood. “There’re more details in the files, if you want them. I’ll, uh, leave you two alone for a moment.” He hurriedly joined Helena in the spare room and closed the door behind him. Helena just caught a glimpse of Dick and Gar leaning into each other before the door closed. Gar was crying. 

 

“What in tarnation is this racket?” grumbled Vigilante as he stepped off the teleporter pad. He had his hands over his ears. 

“I would say that in theory this is music, but I fear that ‘racket’ truly is the more apt description,” Shining Knight frowned as he stepped off the teleporter pad as well. Whiny pop music was playing from a battered CD player. The CD player, like the coffee maker, was a secondhand donation that lacked style but got the job done.

“Kara, darlin’, I love ya, but ya have got to turn that tin-pan rattlin’ off!” 

Kara glanced up from her textbooks. 

“It’s not mine. I like country.” 

Vigilante and Shining Knight turned their accusing gazes to Helena, but she held up her hands. 

“Don’t look at me. It’s not mine either.” She bit down on a smile. 

Q chose that minute to wander by, apparently immersed in some data printouts and humming along with the music under his breath. 

Greg pulled down his bandana and gaped at him incredulously. 

“Q, don’t me ya actually _like_ this here caterwauling!” 

Question paused and tipped his head slightly to one side, the way he only ever did while he was wearing the mask. Then he shrugged. 

“It’s catchy.” 

“You don’t have any conspiracy theories about pop music?” Kara asked, amused. 

“Not this group. Now _country_ -” 

Kara held up a finger, cutting him off. 

“Don’t even go there.” 

 

“Why are we betting on this?” Bart asked. He was sitting next to Mari, Helena, Dinah, Kara, and Lee on the edge of the split level. More Corps members were perched on various pieces of furniture down below, waiting for the show to begin.

“Because why not?” Helena answered. 

“And it’s more fun this way,” added Mari. 

“But I thought you said me and Gar betting on whether Helena or Dinah would win their last spar was letting our male chauvinism show through.” Bart looked confused. 

_I didn’t care about the betting. It was the commentary on my ass that I didn’t appreciate,_ Dinah signed with a frown. 

“What was that?” asked Bart. 

“She said that she didn’t appreciate your comments about her ass.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” Bart had the decency to look contrite. He thought for a moment. “So what’s so exciting about this matchup anyway?” 

“Q almost never spars, and Arrow is more of a long range fighter,” Kara explained. “This is kind of novel.” 

“Besides, they’re really entertaining to watch. They come up with some really entertaining insults, and last time Q threw a couple of Kara’s textbooks at Arrow.” Helena also enjoyed being able to sit back and just watch Q fight when their lives weren’t on the line. 

“Best use anybody’s put those books to,” Kara muttered. It _may_ have been Kara’s calculus textbook that Question had thrown, and Kara _might_ have really hated that class.

“He _threw textbooks_ during a _friendly spar_?” Bart yelped. 

Helena shrugged. 

“He’s from Hub City. He still hasn’t fully grasped the concept of a ‘friendly spar.’” 

“So are you in or are you out?” Mari waved the envelope she’d been gathering dollar bills in. Betting was a flat rate of one dollar. Anybody who had more money than that to waste donated it to the ‘we have to be able to pay our freaking electric bill’ fund. 

Bart shrugged, opened his wallet, and obligingly pulled out a dollar. 

“A dollar on Arrow then, I guess.” 

Dinah nodded approvingly. 

 

“Riddler wants you to talk to Catwoman.” 

Helena lifted her bleary glaze from her as-of-yet untouched mug of coffee and squinted at Vic. The lack of caffeine must have been affecting her hearing, because Vic _couldn’t_ have just said that. 

“He wants what?” 

“You to talk to Catwoman. He’s worried about her. Thinks she’s depressed.” 

Helena stared at his face, waiting for the punchline. None came. Vic just stared back at her, completely serious. 

“Baby doll, please tell me that your strange sense of humor is showing again.” 

“Would never joke about something like this.” 

“I was afraid you were going to say something like that,” Helena groaned. “Why the hell would Riddler want me – _me_ – to talk to Catwoman? And why would you tell me something like this before I’ve even had my caffeine?” 

“I believe he thinks you would be best suited because you are both female, terrifying when mad, tend to dress in purple, and have previous associations with Batman.” Vic paused and took a sip of his own coffee. “And if I had waited until after you’d had your first cup of coffee, you wouldn’t even have stuck around for this much of the conversation.” 

He was right – Helena definitely would have bolted. 

“That sounds like an incredibly arbitrary reason to pick me. Riddler remembers that I’m a vigilante, right?” 

“I think he was more focused on that you were able to move on after what happened, though his logic was somewhat shaky.” 

 

“Hey, Vic, I’ve got a question,” Kara announced. “The physics course I just signed up for is being taught by a Dr. Ray Palmer, and that name sounds familiar, but I can’t remember why. Did I just manage to sign up for another class being taught by a reformed villain?” 

“Dr. Ray Palmer formerly of Ivy University?” Vic asked. He frowned at the fan of cards in his hands. Helena, Vic, Greg, and Sir Justin were playing Hearts, and if Helena wasn’t mistaken, Vic was about to get control. Again. Damn it. Vic counted cards like a pro. She was already up to eighty-six points. Short of a miracle, Helena was definitely losing this round.

“I think so.” Kara pulled out the course information she had printed off. “Yeah, he was just offered tenure at Gotham U and made head of the physics department.” She paused. “He’s an ex-villain, isn’t he? I’m going to spend another semester trying not to picture one of my professors in spandex.” 

“Not a villain – a vigilante,” Vic corrected. “The Atom. Generally uses his suit for scientific research.” 

“Ain’t he one o’ the ones Oracle’s been tryin’ ta track down?” asked Greg. 

“Mmm,” Vic nodded, “valuable resource.” 

Kara groaned and flopped sideways onto the couch. 

“Why did I have to pick the school that attracts all the crazies?” she moaned. 

“Because you’re one of them, Miss Kryptonite Necklace?” suggested Gar from where he was lounging on the hideous, neon orange beanbag. It was his favorite, because it clashed with his skin so badly. 

Kara balled up one of her printouts and threw it at his head. 

 

Lois Lane was on Helena’s couch again. It didn’t get any less surreal no matter how many times it happened. Even if they were sort of friends now. They generally didn’t discuss the Corps, but they did talk about the former Lords. 

“I sent him a glitter bomb.” Lois sounded smug. 

“You _what_?” Helena nearly choked on her lemonade. 

“I sent him a glitter bomb,” Lois repeated, “with kryptonite green glitter in it. Now his entire cell is going to sparkle green for months.” To say that Lois was still bitter about her two years of solitary confinement would be… an understatement. But she’d found a way of passive aggressively dealing with it. 

“And the guards actually let him open it?” Helena asked. 

“Yup. They even recorded it for me – his reaction was classic.” 

“You’re such a sadist.” 

Lois shrugged. 

“Maybe. It would probably be crueler if I just ignored him entirely – put no thought or effort into his state of existence. One day I will. But be honest, if you could get away with it, wouldn’t you still take a shot at breaking Batman’s nose?” 

“Maybe.” Helena leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s driving him nuts that the Corps won’t accept any money from him even now. I just never want to see his face again. Nightwing definitely wouldn’t mind breaking his nose a time or two, though.” She swirled around the lemonade in her glass. “So did you send Superman anything else in your latest ‘hate package’ or was it just the kryptonite glitter this time.” 

“Just the glitter. Next time I’m going to send some cilantro – he can’t stand the smell.” 

 

Huntress folded her arms and scuffed one boots against the rooftop. 

“So how is this supposed to work?” she asked. 

Catwoman raised an eyebrow at her. 

“How am I supposed to know? I’m not sure what Eddie expected this to accomplish.” 

“I think Q mentioned something about catharsis,” Huntress shrugged, “but I honestly didn’t really follow what he was talking about.” 

They stood in silence for a moment. Neither one of them wanted to discuss feelings or the Bat in the room. Huntress eyed the bullwhip around Catwoman’s waist. 

“So how do you manage with that thing instead of a grappling line?” she asked. 

Catwoman smiled. 

The evening turned out much better than either of them had expected. 

 

Ollie was currently moping because a bad fall had put his left forearm in a cast which meant no archery or crime fighting for the foreseeable future. Or at least the next couple of months. Wildcat was backing up Black Canary for patrolling Star City while Ollie recovered. To entertain himself and work out some of his pent up frustration at the situation, Ollie had set up a target and was practicing his knife throwing. That’s how it had started out anyway, but like most things that happened at the base, it hadn’t stayed that way for long. Greg and Lee, as it turned out, could also throw knives, so there had been a twenty minute long competition which had ended in a tie between Ollie and Greg. 

The competition had drawn a small crowd as various members filtered in and out of the base. Now Gar, Bart, and Pat (who piloted the STRIPE armor) were being taught the art of throwing knives, and Dick was teaching Mari the finer points of throwing bird-a-rangs, because she thought that style of projectile would work for her better. Barbara had even demonstrated that, even though her legs no longer functioned, she could still throw a bird-a-rang like a champ. 

Helena was watching from the split level well clear of the line of fire. She’d been down in the thick of it earlier, but now she needed a break. A pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind, and Vic rest his chin on her shoulder. She smiled and leaned back into him. 

“Can you believe we went from the two of us taking down one wannabe meth dealer together to this?” she asked. 

“Definitely not the expected outcome.” Vic was a quiet moment. “I’m glad you asked me to help you.” 

“Yeah. Me, too.” At that moment in her life, Helena thought that that was one of the best decisions she had ever made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am working on a fifth chapter, so keep an eye out.


	5. Unwanted Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phoenix Corps is not happy about the seven uninvited guests crashing in their base. Then again, the Justice League isn't happy about it either.

Huntress and Question were standing on top of the Gotham Museum of Modern Art and taking readings for Oracle. Well, that wasn’t precisely true. Oracle was taking readings of them. She wanted to improve the accuracy and security of the beacons that all the Corps members wore. It only took about fifteen minutes before Oracle announced, 

“That’s all I needed. Thanks!” 

“No problem,” Huntress responded. It was a mild night, so the forced stillness hadn’t been a trial. The two regrouped at the bottom of the sweeping front steps of the GMMA which spilled out into the Grand Plaza. It was one of the largest open spaces in Gotham that wasn’t part of a park. During the day, the Plaza was full of kiosks and food trucks trying to lure in tourists. At this time of night, it was a ghost town with a few newspaper tumbleweeds rolling by. 

“Something’s not right,” Question murmured before Huntress could say anything. He was turned to face the center of the Plaza. His shoulders were stiff and his posture practically buzzed with tension. 

Huntress turned to face the same direction. He was right – something was… wrong. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. The air was humming with static electricity. Not fifteen feet in front of them, the air seemed to distort and ripple. Tiny, jagged streaks of blue lightning leapt and crackled between the flagstones. 

Question raised his hand to his ear piece. 

“Oracle, be advised that Huntress and I may need backup shortly.” 

Whatever response Oracle may have given was drowned out by a sudden roar of noise and light and dancing blue lightning. When it finally settled and Huntress had blinked the spots out of her eyes, seven more people were standing where there hadn’t been seven people before. 

Seven people with _very_ familiar faces. 

Question’s voice was calm and measured – too calm, 

“Oracle, send all available backup immediately. This is an emergency.” 

 

One minute they’d just been finishing a meeting in the new, earth-side Watch Tower. The next, some sort of alarm klaxon had been going off, and then they… hadn’t been in the meeting room any more. Or even on the chairs they’d been sitting on. 

Superman pulled himself to his feet and looked around. This looked like… Gotham but not exactly Gotham at the same time. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong. As the ringing in his ears finally began to clear, Superman heard a voice saying, 

“-gency.” 

That had sounded like the Question. Superman turned his head. It really was Question standing about ten feet away, shoulder to shoulder with Huntress. How had they gotten there? And why did their body language look so… hostile? Then other little details finally started to stand out. The bottom of Question’s coat was ragged and tattered. The only skin Huntress’s costume exposed was her upper arms and the lower half of her face. Her hair was pulled back in a braid instead of hanging loose. Actually, both of their outfits suggested that they were wearing Kevlar chest plates. And both of them had an odd, circular emblem on their costumes. Question’s was mostly obscured by his trench coat, but Huntress’s was in plain sight on the left side of her chest directly over her heart. It was orange and yellow and appeared to be a stylized image of a flaming bird. A phoenix. 

That was not a promising sign. 

There was a flash of light like the white light of the transporters and more familiar but unfamiliar faces appeared behind Question and Huntress. There was Green Arrow looking more medieval than usual in a short tunic and loose pants instead of spandex. Vigilante, Shining Knight, and Crimson Avenger were all standing shoulder to shoulder even though Superman was fairly certain that Vigilante and Crimson Avenger had some sort of minor feud going on. There was STRIPE with Stargirl next to him in a much less revealing costume than she normally wore. Was that Black Canary with her hair cut so severely short? And Nightwing? Superman didn’t even know who the young man with green skin was. And all of them were wearing the stylized phoenix emblem somewhere on their clothing and looked unhappy to see them. 

Damn. 

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” muttered Flash. Superman was inclined to agree.

Question stalked forward and stepped right up into Superman’s personal space so that their faces were only a few inches apart. 

“Get the hell out of our dimension.” Superman wasn’t sure how Question managed to snarl while sounding so deadly calm, but it reminded him of Batman. This was also reminding him uncomfortably of the conversation he’d had with their Question before he’d been captured by Cadmus.

“If we could, we would,” Batman’s gravely baritone cut in, “but we don’t even know where ‘here’ is. It seems our base of operations was attacked, and we were transported here against our will.” 

“Yeah, right,” snorted Stargirl, but Superman noted her hands were shaking. 

“And where, exactly, would it be that you’re coming from?” asked Question, his voice still that eerily calm snarl. 

“We’re from the Justice League,” Flash volunteered helpfully. “What about you guys?” 

“We’re the Phoenix Corps.” There was a hint of pride behind those words. The others behind Question almost seemed to straighten up when he said the name. 

“Wait, did you say Justice _League_?” asked Nightwing, taking a step forward. 

“You don’t think-” Green Arrow began, but Black Canary cut him off with a hand gesture. 

“We are from the Justice League,” Wonder Woman confirmed. 

“Have you ever ended up in a parallel dimension before?” asked Nightwing. 

“Oh, sure!” Flash began before anyone could stop him. “A couple of times. The last time it happened we got kidnapped by parallel versions of all of them,” he gestured at his fellow League members, “who had gone totally nuts because alternated me got killed and they were calling themselves the ‘Justice Lords’ or something.” 

It was very subtle, but every single member of the Phoenix Corps reacted in some small way to the mention of the Justice Lords. 

“Is that so?” Question murmured, finally taking a step back. 

Nightwing swore and raked his hands through his hair. 

“It’s gotta be them, Q.” 

“Doesn’t _have_ to be, but probably is.” 

“I take it we’re back in the Justice Lords’ dimension?” Batman rumbled. 

“It’s not _their_ dimension anymore,” Huntress corrected. “Hasn’t been for a long time.” 

Fantastic, they were in the dimension where they all had the same faces as tyrannical overlords except for Flash, because he was supposed to be dead. Wasn’t that just peachy. After all that wonderful mess they’d gone through with Camdus, this was really not a dimension Superman wanted to be reminded of. The tension was so damn high that it seemed that whatever move came next would result in bloodshed. They needed to break this up somehow before the Phoenix Corps decided to go on the offensive. 

“We’re not here to hurt anyone,” Superman finally spoke up. “Can we talk to whoever is in charge of your group, so that we can possibly work something out?” 

Superman was not expecting the response this question elicited. For a moment, the atmosphere seemed to teeter, uncertain of which way to go. Then it slipped from one extreme to another. Huntress bit her lip like she was trying very hard not to smile. Nightwing was making undignified snorting sounds. Green Arrow had one hand over his mouth. The green skinned man was flat out giggling. Within seconds, the entire Phoenix Corps, except for the Question, dissolved into laughter. It was a helpless kind of laughter that seemed to say, ‘I’m only laughing because murder isn’t a good option right now.’ Question was just pinching the bridge of what probably should have been his nose. 

“Hate all of you,” he grumbled. 

Superman’s brain scrambled to put the pieces together, but his mind kept rejecting the conclusion that logical deduction was bring him to, because there was absolutely _no way_ that anybody had put the Question in charge. But that was the only conclusion he could come up with. 

“You’re in charge?” Green Lantern asked Question, sounding as doubtful about this as Superman felt. 

“Not because I want to be.” 

“Or you can talk to Huntress,” Nightwing offered cheekily. “She’s second-in-command.” 

“ _What?!_ ” Huntress squawked. “I am _not_!” 

“You totally are,” the green skinned man agreed. This was met with general nods of agreement from the other Corps members and a chuckle from Question that was so quiet that even Superman’s incredibly sensitive ears barely caught it. Huntress looked incredibly miffed.

Question made a hand movement that looked almost like sign language and everyone stopped talking. 

“Can’t leave them here. Don’t want to start a riot. We’ll have to take them back to the base.” 

The levity of just a moment before evaporated like it had never existed. 

“Isn’t there somewhere else we could leave them?” asked Crimson Avenger. 

“It would be unwise to do so. It is better to keep them close. We must remember that they are not the Lords, and therefore not inherently our enemy.” Shining Knight didn’t sound totally convinced by his own words though. 

Black Canary snapped her fingers in the air twice to get everyone’s attention. Once all eyes were on her, her hands began to move in what was definitely sign language. 

“She says that letting us go back with them is better than inciting more riots,” Batman translated softly. Superman wasn’t even remotely surprised that he understood sign language. “And that if she can stand to be around you without trying to commit murder, they can suck it up and do it, too.” 

What a vote of confidence. 

Question brought one hand to his ear, presumably activating the communicator there. 

“Oracle, we’re transporting back to the base with seven unexpected… guests.” 

 

Wonder Woman wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting the Phoenix Corps’ ‘base’ to look like, but perhaps something more along the lines of the Watch Tower. After all, the Lords had had a space station like the League had. Part of her had assumed that the Phoenix Corps must have taken over that. She was not expecting a shabby, slightly rundown warehouse full of mismatched furniture. The warehouse was a decent size with a split second level. Most of the odd collection of furniture was on one side of the building along with a battered conference table. Someone had set up a couple of targets on the far wall, and there were some folded up training mats stacked nearby. The only electronics in the place, aside from the teleporter pad, appeared to be two slightly outdated computer terminals, a scuffed up CD player, and a well-loved coffee machine. The phoenix emblem adorned both the conference table and one of the walls. 

The place suited the battered and careworn heroes who made up the Phoenix Corps the more she thought about it. They reminded Wonder Woman of the way everyone had looked right after the Thanagarian invasion only more so. She honestly had never given any thought to what had happened after they sent the de-powered Justice Lords back to their home dimension. It had been naive to assume that everything would simply be fine. 

Were they even safe with these people? 

_They mean us no harm. We simply make them very uncomfortable._ J’onn spoke directly into her mind. _They don’t trust us._

“’Wing, you’re going to have to call him,” Question was saying softly as he and Nightwing walked off the teleporter pad. “He made the machine that brought them here the first time.” 

“I know,” Nightwing muttered. “I’m just getting into the right headspace so that I don’t finish the conversation by smashing my phone.” 

Question simply nodded as if this were to be expected. 

“Hey, guys, STRIPE and I need to finish our patrol,” Stargirl spoke up. Wonder Woman could see the faint tremors in her arms. STRIPE had one large, mechanical hand on her shoulder. 

“Go for it,” Huntress shot her a smile that looked slightly forced. “We’ve got this.” 

Stargirl practically ran for the teleporter pad. 

It was disconcerting seeing so many familiar faces taunt with fear and discomfort merely from her presence. Next to her Shayera was flexing her wings uncomfortably and trying not to fiddle with her mace too much. 

“Okay, we are obviously making you guys super uncomfortable,” Flash announced, “so how about this?” And then Flash reached up and pulled back his mask to reveal his face and flamboyant red hair. 

“What are you doing?” hissed Shayera. 

“Well, I’m dead in this dimension, so it’s not like revealing my secret identity is going to hurt anybody,” Wally shrugged. “And our costumes are at least part of the problem. Come on, GL, turn that ring off. It’s not like your counterpart isn’t in jail already.” 

“John Stewart is still on the run and one of this country’s most wanted men as well as on Interpol’s terrorist watch list,” Question corrected. “Impressed he’s managed to evade facial recognition software this long.” 

Green Lantern did not look happy to hear this. 

“See – they already know who you are, so turn the ring off and get that symbol off your chest.” Wally pointed a finger at him in mock command. 

“Fine,” Green Lantern grumbled and deactivated his ring. The members of the Phoenix Corps actually did relax slightly once John was in his civilian clothes again. 

Shayera put her mace down on the floor and folded her arms. 

“There. That better? I already don’t wear my helmet anymore.” 

“I do not believe that my shifting into another form would make anyone here more comfortable,” J’onn stated solemnly. 

Diana wished that there was something she could do as well, but she didn’t wear a mask or have a change of clothes. 

“Come on, Bats – lose the mask.” Wally tempted fate and nudged Batman in the ribs with his elbow. 

“No.” 

“Maybe we should just throw a sheet over you and Supes,” Wally mused. Wonder Woman knew he was just trying to defused the situation with humor like he usually did, but he was pushing it a bit hard. 

 

Huntress perched uncomfortably on the edge of her chair. Logically, she knew that none of the members of the… Justice _League_ were going to hurt them. She still flinched slightly every time Superman made any sudden movements. Q was sitting to her left and was reading through the file he had spread out on the conference table while they waited for Nightwing to make his call. He had his fingers laced together with hers beneath the cover of the table. It was comforting, but also left her right hand free if she needed to reach for her crossbow. He’d done it that way on purpose. 

She really wanted to take off her mask, because this was the _base_. It wasn’t supposed to be this tense and… _argh_. You know what? Screw it. She was tired of being tense and- and- _scared_. The Lords didn’t get to have that power over her anymore, so these shadows of them weren’t going to either.

Huntress reached for her mask. 

“Sure that’s wise?” murmured Question. 

“No, but I’m going to do it anyway,” Helena muttered as she pulled her mask free. Her shoulders relaxed almost immediately. It was practically Pavlovian. She let out a soft sigh. She caught the surprised expression on Batman’s face and smirked at him. The Huntress in his dimension was probably still working through a mountain of trust and anger issues. 

Everyone was seated around the conference table. Vigilante, Shining Knight, and Crimson Avenger were speaking softly at the far end of the table. Gar and Flash – or ‘Wally’ as he had introduced himself – were talking animatedly. It seemed that Flash really had been the man everyone said he was. No wonder Central City was still mourning his loss. He seemed like the kind of guy who remembered the name of every person he had ever met. At the moment, they were discussing the table’s layers of graffiti. (They almost had enough money now for a new table, though that one was probably going to meet a similar fate.) 

“So any carvings are Nightwing’s, the abstract swirl patterns are Huntress’s, the creepy collection of left eyes is Crimson Avenger’s, and the battle scenes rendered in stick figure are Green Arrow’s,” Gar was explaining enthusiastically. When Gar was nervous, he tended to ratchet up the comedy routine. 

“Why only left eyes?” asked Wonder Woman. Helena was impressed when Gar managed to smile at her. 

“He says he doesn’t like drawing right eyes.” 

“That is not what I said-” Crimson Avenger began indignantly but was cut off by Nightwing’s return. 

Nightwing flopped down in the empty chair between Question and Green Arrow and very delicately placed his phone down on the table. 

“The son of a bitch actually took it apart. The one time I counted on his paranoia seeing us through, and he actually did the responsible thing.” 

“Does he still have the blueprints?” asked Question, leaning forward. 

“Yeah,” Nightwing rubbed the bridge of his nose, “but it’s going to take at least a week to put it back together again.” 

“Damn it.” Green Arrow took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. 

Nightwing glanced at Helena, apparently just registering that she was without her mask. 

“You know what? That’s not a bad idea. I’m not spending my next week at the base with my mask on full time.” Dick pulled his mask off as well, leaving the scarring around his left eye on full display. The scar bisected the end of his eyebrow and curled around the edge of his eye in a crescent moon shape. Helena thought it made him look like an old school Bond villain. And… yup, the corner of Batman’s mouth twitched ever so slightly further down. He obviously recognized the damage done by a bat-a-rang when he saw it. “So the long and the short of it is, we’re stuck with each other for a while, so we might as well calm down before we all end up with hernias.” Dick was doing the same thing as Gar – ramping up the comedy to hide how unhappy he was with the situation. 

“This seems like a wise course of action,” Sir Justin agreed, pulling off his helmet. “After all, you are not our enemy, and we should not treat you as such.”

“You’re all nuts,” grumbled Green Arrow as Vigilante and Crimson Avenger reluctantly followed Sir Justin’s lead. 

_You’re just a coward_ , Black Canary signed with a smirk and peeled her mask away. She knew that Arrow could never resist a challenge like that. (She could always play him like a fiddle.)

“I am _not_ ,” he snapped, and, yup, there went the mask. 

Question was the only Phoenix Corps member left still wearing his mask. He tensed and let go of Helena’s hand to fold his arms as eyes turned on him. Helena let her hand rest against the side of his leg in subtle support. 

“No.” Q’s voice was dead flat. 

Dick nodded. 

“That’s your choice.” He paused. Frowned. “Okay, quick show of hands – who here has already figured out Batman’s secret identity?”

Everyone raised their hand. Helena watched the faces of the seven Justice League members carefully. They all displayed variations on the theme of surprise. 

“Dude, it’s not that hard to figure out,” Gar shrugged. “Everybody knows, but we all figured if you six were keeping quiet about it, you must have a good reason.” 

“Oh.” Dick looked a little embarrassed. “Well, thanks.” 

“He hasn’t been arrested,” Batman stated with a tone of deep disapproval and, boy, was that surreal. 

Dick raised an eyebrow at him – the scarred one. 

“Which do you think would be a more severe punishment for you? Being locked up in prison for your crimes or being left alone in that big empty mansion to be consumed by your own guilt?” Batman didn’t blanch, but Wonder Woman did. He simply inclined his head slightly. “Anyway, that brings me to my next point. Bruce, please take off your damn mask. I realize it makes you uncomfortable, but we’ve got members who had some _bad_ run-ins with your counterpart, and this place is a safe haven. Superman may have been an unstoppable monster, but Batman was the boogieman who hunted you down while you slept.” 

“Would help most of us disassociate you from him,” Question agreed. “Should see if we can get some street clothes for all of you while you’re here.” 

“And what about you?” Batman shot back. “Why should I take my mask off if you won’t remove yours?” 

Superman put a hand on Batman’s shoulder and opened his mouth, but Question held up a gloved hand, cutting him off. 

“You already don’t take me seriously. Out of full costume? I doubt you’ll listen to a word I have to say.” 

“That’s not true,” Wonder Woman protested. 

“Isn’t it? I take it you’ve met my counterpart in your universe, given your earlier reactions to me. Can you honestly tell me that you listen to anything he says that isn’t about raw data? That you don’t constantly brush him off as paranoid and delusional?” 

For some reason, Helena noted, these questions made Superman particularly uncomfortable. 

“We’ve been learning to listen… better recently,” Superman murmured. Yeah, there was definitely a story behind that look. Helena just hoped that it wasn’t a story that ended in Alternate Q’s untimely death or maiming. The air was growing tense again. 

“How about a compromise?” Helena suggested. “Q, you take off your mask after Batman takes off his.” 

Question’s shoulders were stiff and unhappy, but after a long moment, he gave a slow nod. She could tell that he was glowering at Batman from behind his mask. Helena didn’t know the _whole_ story of what had happened between Q and Batman during the rise of the Lords, but she knew that it had been incredibly ugly and that he was carrying just as much betrayal as she was. She caught his hand under the table again when he unfolded his arms. 

Batman seemed to find this acceptable, because without any further prodding he reached up and pulled back his cowl. 

 

Helena dropped onto the foldout couch with a sigh and rubbed her face with her hands. The only good thing about the night so far was that she didn’t have work in the morning because it was – she glanced at the clock by the coffee machine – oh, god, it was 3am. That wasn’t as an absurdly late/early as it could be for those living the vigilante nightlife, but Helena’s brain had been on high alert in panic mode since around 11:15pm. The adrenaline was finally beginning to burn out. Thank god for summer break. 

Vic sat down next to her, looking as haggard as she felt. He wasn’t handling the arrival of the ‘Justice League’ much better than she was. At least everyone had calmed down a bit. Ollie and Dinah had left to see if they could scrounge up some civilian clothes for… Clark, Diana, Wally and Bruce. (It was easier if she used those names – they had fewer nightmares connected to them.) 

“They can’t stay here the entire time,” Vic muttered, leaning his head back and rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“Why not?” 

“Almost no plumbing. No kitchen. Don’t even have a fridge.” 

“Damn it.” She hadn’t thought of that. You couldn’t take a shower at the base, or do more than make coffee. There had been a very brief period when they’d had a microwave, but that hadn’t ended well. (It may have exploded a bit.) “We’re going to have to let them into our homes, aren’t we?” 

“Yup.” 

“If alternate Bruce sets foot in our apartment, I’ll turn him into a pincushion.” 

“Duly noted.” 

There was a flash from the transporter pad, and Helena craned her head to see if Dinah and Ollie had managed to find anything useful. 

It wasn’t Dinah and Ollie – it was Impulse and Vixen returning rather late from their patrol of Metropolis. They both appeared to be rather singed around the edges. 

“Guess what, guys!” Bart pushed up his goggles and attempted to wipe some of the soot off his cheek. He only succeeded in smudging it further. “Captain Boomerang survived the Lords! And I guess he was feeling nostalgic when he heard there was a speedster in Metropolis. But don’t worry, we-” He stopped as he noticed the Justice League members watching him curiously. Blinked twice. “…Wally?” The vulnerability in his eyes was painful to witness. 

“Yes, but no.” Wally’s voice was gentle. “I’m from an alternate reality. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh.” For a horrible fraction of a second, Bart’s entire face crumpled, then he rallied. “Well, at least one version of you is alive.” He gave a bright smile that wasn’t nearly as forced as Helena had expected. Wally smiled back at him. 

“I take it this lot isn’t evil then?” Mari asked as she sashayed forward. She glanced at Vic. He nodded. She swaggered straight up to Green Lant- John and eyed him up and down. “So this is what you look like out of uniform. It’s a lot less tempting to claw your eyes out when they’re not glowing green.” 

For some reason this caused Shayera to burst out into laughter. 

 

Diana didn’t normally wear baggy t-shirts and sweatpants, but that was the only thing Dinah had been able to find that would fit her at such short notice. Wally and Bruce were closer to Ollie’s size so their clothes fit better but still not particularly well. Bruce still had his utility belt strapped around his waist. Nobody had been able to locate anything, yet, though, that could accommodate Clark’s massive shoulders, so he was still in costume. 

J’onn, Shayera, John, and Wally were currently napping on the spread out training mats. Only two of their ‘hosts’ remained – Huntress and the Question. They had both finally passed out from exhaustion on the foldout couch about half an hour ago. Diana had taken the opportunity to explore the Phoenix Corps’ base of operations a bit further. There hadn’t been much else to see. There were two manila envelopes pinned to the wall by the coffee maker. One was labeled “We need a new conference table.” The other was labeled “HELP PAY OUR F---ING ELECTRIC BILL” in big, bold, sharpie caps with “the teleporters aren’t cheap” written in a smaller, more sedate hand underneath. Both envelopes appeared to have bills of various low denominations stuffed in them. On the split second level, there was another even more disreputable-looking couch, a rag rug, a small bookshelf that had a very homemade feel to it, and a miniscule bathroom with little more than a sink and a toilet. The bookshelf was filled with a variety of fantasy, science fiction, western, and trashy romance novels. There was a sticky note telling someone named Lee to “put them back when you’re done, you thief.” Diana selected a fantasy novel at random and took it back downstairs with her. She didn’t often have a lot of time to read lately, so she might as well take advantage of the opportunity when it presented itself. 

Bruce was staring at the sleeping Question and Huntress with rapt concentration when she returned. Seeing him make such patently Batman expressions without the cowl was a little unnerving. 

“Find anything interesting?” murmured Clark, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb anyone. 

Diana held up her book. The spine was cracked in several places and the pages well thumbed. 

“More of the same. I don’t think they have much in the way of funding.” It was an obvious statement, but what else was there to say? “Can you imagine working with so little? It makes me all the more grateful for what we have.” 

Clark nodded. He was making that brooding face again. It made him resemble Bruce far too much. Diana couldn’t tell if he was worrying about the obvious negative effect their presence was having on the members of the Phoenix Corps or how the rest of the Justice League was handling whatever had transported them to this dimension in the first place. It was probably both really. As there was nothing that Diana could do for their friends back home aside from pray to Hera to lend them strength, she was focusing on the here and now. 

She managed to read the first page and a half of her novel – something about eagles and tortoises and flying – before her eye was dragged in the same direction as Bruce’s. 

Before now, Diana had never seen either Question or Huntress without a mask. Question was definitely younger than she had expected. Early thirties perhaps? Diana really wasn’t good with mortal ages, but she would have guessed that he was closer to middle-aged. Both of them looked just as exhausted and careworn without the masks, and there was that sense of intimacy and closeness between them still. Apparently their relationship translated across realities. 

Diana dragged her eyes away from the pair and back to her book. She also gave Bruce a casually bruising kick in the leg. It wasn’t polite to stare. 

 

Helena woke up at noon with a crick in her neck and Vic still leaning heavily against her shoulder. After the hellish previous night it was far too early to be awake, but she was honestly surprised she had even slept this long sitting up on the couch with the Lords’ lookalikes in the same room. A hand appeared in front of her face as she was rubbing sleep out of her eyes. It was holding a sandwich. She squinted up at the owner of the hand. It was Dick. 

“Thanks,” Helena mumbled, accepting the sandwich. The crinkling of the paper roused Vic as well. 

“I figured I might as well feed you two as well as our guests since you’ve been here all night.” 

“Bless you.” Helena bit into the sandwich with gusto. “When did you get here?” she asked around a mouthful of ham and tomato. 

“Half an hour ago? Nobody wanted to wake you guys up, so we kept some of the sandwiches out of Wally’s reach. Apparently it’s not just Bart – _all_ speedsters eat like that.” Dick gave an over the top shudder. “Also, I am proud to say that I haven’t even been tempted to throttle alternate Bruce now that I’ve had some sleep.” 

“Has everyone been notified about what’s happened?” asked Vic, pulling himself more upright and accepting a sandwich as well. He peeled back the top lair of bread to inspect the contents. 

“Babs is double checking that she got everybody. She’s doing a call around. And before you ask, yes, that is a GMO-free tomato.” 

“Feel like we might be forgetting something,” Vic muttered. 

“Just eat your sandwich,” Dick mock ordered, wagging a finger at him.

Helena glanced at where the Justice League were entertaining themselves. John and Shayera seemed to be investigating the targets, Diana was reading a book, Bruce was writing something on a legal pad, and J’onn, Wally, and Clark were standing to one side in deep conversation. Clark was still in his red and blue costume. 

“Still no luck on finding anything for those shoulders, I take it.” 

There was a flash of light from the teleporters, and Helena twisted to see who might be turning up at this time of day. Though – time zones. That was a thing to consider. Still, who-? 

“Hey, guys,” Kara smiled, “what’re you doing here so-” She stopped, and in that brief fraction of a second Helena realized, _she doesn’t know_. Kara’s face went stark white, and then she was moving, practically seeming to blur, her right hand reaching up to her neck- 

“Kara, no-!” Helena launched herself off the couch, Vic and Dick close on her heels, but they were too far away. 

Kara ripped the necklace from around her neck, fisted her hand around the glowing green pendant, curled her arm back, and punched a very shocked Superman right in the nose. It was a perfectly executed punch and lacked any of Kara’s normal hesitation. There was an ugly, wet, crunching noise as Clark’s nose broke. 

“You _son of a bitch!_ How _dare_ you-!” Helena and Vic caught her and hauled her back before Kara could wind up for another hit. “Let go of me!” she snarled, struggling wildly. 

“No! Kara. Kara! It’s not him! _It’s not him!_ ” 

Kara’s struggles gradually slowed. Her rage was sliding abruptly into grief. Tears were filling her eyes now.

“You make her wear a kryptonite necklace?” Helena wasn’t sure which of the Justice League had said that, but they had sounded horrified. 

“We don’t _make_ her do anything,” Vic snapped back, hackles rising. “She generally refuses to take it off.” 

“It’s really not him?” Kara whispered. She was limp in Helena’s arms now, tears leaking down her face. 

“They’re from an alternate reality. Some accident landed them in the middle of the Grand Plaza last night.” 

Clark was clutching his nose. Blood leaked down his face. Kara stared blankly at him for a moment. Then she looked down at the necklace in her hand. 

“I- I broke the chain,” she mumbled, her voice numb. She stared at it for a moment longer and then burst into tears. 

Helena didn’t blame her in the least. 

 

“Here, let me get that.” Bruce had dragged Clark up to the split level out of Kara’s line of sight to deal with his nose. Clark still looked dazed about the whole thing. Bruce took a moment to figure out how much Clark’s now crooked nose needed to be straightened. 

“That was Kara.” Now Clark was stating the obvious. Fabulous. 

“Yes. It was.” It looked like a clean break. The kid’s form had been excellent – much better than Supergirl’s had ever been. Then again, it wasn’t like either of the Kryptonians had ever _needed_ to be able to throw a perfect punch to get results. “Her form’s a lot better than yours.” 

“She looked so grown up.” 

Bruce didn’t sigh, but he did reach out and deftly straighten Clark’s nose. He’d had an unfortunate amount of practice. Clark hissed and ground his teeth together at the unexpected pain. Bruce normally would have been a hair more sympathetic, but his mind was still preoccupied with bat-a-rang scars and creatures who hunted you while you slept. This was not a reality that _any_ of them had wanted to revisit. 

“She’s also studying to be a doctor,” Bruce informed him. He’d noted the fallen pre-med textbook on the teleporter pad. 

“Really?” Clark seemed to find this encouraging. “That’s amazing. Our Kara never would have done that.” 

“Aren’t you upset about her breaking your nose?” 

Clark sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“It’ll heal. …I don’t blame her.” 

 

Kara turned out to be the solution to the clothing problem. She returned from the Kents’ attic with a dusty cardboard box that no one had had the heart to throw out yet. Her pendant was now on a piece of black ribbon until she could replace the ruined chain. She handed the box to Clark without quite looking him in the eye. 

“I’m sorry… about your nose.” 

Clark accepted the box. 

“A little sun and I’ll be fine.” He paused. “My Kara….” He stopped and started again. “My Kara went to the future and never came back. Maybe… we could talk a little bit. Before I have to leave. I think it might help us both.” 

Kara finally met his eye and nodded. 

 

Wonder Wo- no, _Diana_ was in Helena’s shower, and Helena was not very happy about this. Her apartment was being invaded, and Vic was actually needed at the office for once instead of working from home. A fully-powered Amazonian was in her shower and Helena was stressed and when she was stress she… she baked, okay? She made mountains of comfort food and then fed most of it to other people. It was one of her most disgustingly clichéd habits, but it worked. 

Helena was on her third pan of lasagna. Shut up, they had a speedster they needed to feed, and lasagna was filling. And smelled really good. And Vic liked it. Maybe she should make some garlic bread to go with it. 

On the other side of the apartment the water turned off. Helena found a suitable loaf of bread in the cupboard and then turned her attention to the fridge to check if they actually had enough butter. There was enough butter. Time for garlic bread aroma therapy. 

Diana walked into the small kitchen a few minutes later, dressed, with her hair still slightly damp. She looked less intimidating in an oversized t-shirt with a classic motorcycle on the front. It made her more human. 

“That smells fantastic.” 

“Thanks.” 

Diana was quiet for a few minutes, watching as Helena prepared the spread and then pulled the third pan of lasagna from the oven. It was boiling in the middle – good. 

“I was wondering,” Diana picked up a spoon Helena wasn’t using and rolled it between her fingers, “how did the Phoenix Corps get started?” 

It was an honest question asked with genuine curiosity. Wonder Woman was intimidating – Diana was easy to talk to. 

“Technically? I asked Q to help me bust a wannabe meth ring. It wasn’t long after the Fall. I’d heard about the Question from… Batman years before. Data guy – good with computers. All my underworld contacts were gone. He looked homeless and harmless.” Helena didn’t say, _I was lonely_. “It worked out well for us. Then I ran into Nightwing. We finished a case together, and Bloodhaven’s not that far from Gotham. He was still working with Oracle. Ran into Canary and Arrow in Star City. It was just the six of us for a while. Then Babs started networking like the menace she is.” The corner of Helena’s mouth turned up in an involuntary half smile. She started wrapping the garlic bread in tin foil so that it could go in the oven. “And that is the inglorious tale of how the Phoenix Corps came to be.” Into the oven the garlic bread went. A thought occurred to her. Why not? “So what are they like? Me and Vic from your reality?” 

“I don’t really know either of them all that well,” Diana admitted. She set the spoon back down carefully on the countertop. “Huntress was dismissed from the League a couple of years ago.” 

“What did she do?” 

“Tried to kill a mobster, I think. I think his name started with an M or an N.” 

“Ah,” Helena nodded, “Mandragora. Sounds like something I would have done.” Back when she was young and angry and unable to think further ahead than revenge. 

“She still helps the League out sometimes though. She says that she’s only doing it for Question, since he’s still a member of the League, and she doesn’t want him to get himself almost killed again.” 

“Again?” That didn’t sound promising. 

Diana traced a swirl pattern on the counter with her fingertip and then finally spoke. 

“There was… an organization in the government who was worried that the Justice League had too much power. They got their hands on reports about our trip to your reality and the Justice Lords. I don’t know how. They felt that we were starting to stray down that same path. And maybe we were. We were perhaps a touch… arrogant. Their methods were radical, though. Luther was egging them on. Question got ahold of their files and predictions of what would happen if Luther won the presidency in our world as well.” Diana was still staring at the counter as if it held all the secrets of the universe. “He tried to confront Clark about what he’d found, but that didn’t go well, so….” 

“So Q did something that seemed logical to him.” Helena recognized the pattern this story was following. It was a familiar one. 

“He tried to kill Luther himself before he could become president and Superman did it instead.” Helena sucked in a sharp breath, because, yeah, that sounded _exactly_ like the sort of stupid thing Q would have done back when she first met him, and he still considered himself incredibly expendable. “They caught and interrogated him instead. Question has always been so reclusive that nobody even realized he was missing until a week later. And even then it was only because of Huntress.” 

“We have distress beacons,” Helena offered, trying to shake the image of Vic being tortured. “Nobody outside the Corps knows about them.” 

“That sounds like a good idea.” Diana paused and then smiled. “The two of them have been dating for a while now – Huntress and Question. Bruce can’t decide who’s been a better influence on who. Question actually shows up in the cafeteria occasionally now to steal cups of coffee to take back to his room. Sometimes he even talks to people other than Green Arrow and Black Canary.” 

“Cafeteria?” Helena pulled the garlic bread out of the oven. “Just how big _is_ your base?” 

“The Watchtower? It’s a space station.” 

Helena boggled and nearly dropped the garlic bread. 

 

In the Watchtower there were always people coming and going and checking monitors and whatnot. It was never really quiet. The Phoenix Corps’ base came alive just before the sun started to set. That was when Oracle arrived. 

Barbara came with her own set of headphones with a mic attached and a briefcase full of additional equipment. She also came with a Nightwing in the middle of an argument. 

“-t going to work from home tonight. Infestation of extra-dimensional guests be damned, I like my set up at the base better. And would you look at that? We’re already here. Pointless argument over.” 

“Fine, you win. I guess I was being irrational,” Nightwing sighed. He bent down and gave Babs a quick kiss on the lips. “At least run over his foot for me?” 

Barbara grinned and gave Nightwing’s rump a quick pat that made him jump slightly. 

“I’ll think about it.” Then she wheeled down the ramp from the teleporters and made a beeline for the computer terminals. Nightwing left in a brief flash of teleporter light. Barbara offered the Justice League a small distracted wave as she went by. “I want to talk to all of you at some point, but that will have to be later. For now, the Great and Powerful Oz is busy.” 

Bruce and Clark watched her go. 

“They’re married.” 

Of all the things that they had discovered about this reality so far, Clark really wasn’t certain why this seemed to surprise Bruce the most. Then again, the most mundane things did seem to catch Bruce off guard. Clark was personally torn between Huntress and Question – two of the League’s most mentally unstable members – being the founders of the Phoenix Corps and Kara deciding to become a doctor as the most shocking. He was leaning towards the former. 

 

Huntress was crouched on a rooftop in the diamond district, trying to focus. It was hard. Her focus felt shredded. It was a little past midnight, her patrol was almost over, and she’d stopped exactly one mugger. Talk about a slow night. Technically, she should probably consider this a good thing – the crime rate was actually going down – but she was still stressed and had been hoping to take of that out on the criminal element tonight. No such luck. 

Someone landed next to her on the rooftop, whisper soft. 

“Well, aren’t you just a bundle of nerves tonight?” 

Catwoman may not have been robbing anyone of late, but she had taken to prowling the roofs of ‘her’ territory again some nights. This included the diamond district. Occasionally they talked. 

“We’ve got alternate versions of the Lords running around our base,” Huntress grumbled. Catwoman wouldn’t tell anybody except maybe Riddler, and neither of them would really care – they were both former Rogues. 

“These ones aren’t mad with power, I take it?” 

“No, they’re actually pretty decent which just makes it worse.” 

Catwoman considered this. 

“Has anyone punched Batman, yet?” 

“No. But somebody _did_ break Superman’s nose.” 

Catwoman made a pleased noise in the back of her throat that was not quite a purr. 

 

“Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable?” asked John. He watched as Vigilante wandered over to speak quietly to Barbara keeping a careful distance from the two Justice League members.

Shayera raised an eyebrow. 

“Doesn’t what make me uncomfortable?” 

“The way they all watch us like they’re half expecting us to attack them at any moment.” John glanced sideways at her.

Shayera was quiet for a very long moment. 

“I’m used to it.”

 

Clark had decided to follow Diana and J’onn’s example and grab a book from the ‘library’ shelf. It wasn’t half bad. Not his usual fare (if he was going to read fiction, he generally preferred ‘realistic’), but it was entertaining. The main character, the captain of the night watch, reminded Clark a bit of Bruce. He found the dragon aspect of the story rather confusing though. Maybe it would make more sense as the book went on. 

Bruce was reading through a pile of newspapers that Crimson Avenger had been kind enough to drop off before he went out on his patrol. They looked to date back several weeks. That ought to keep Bruce occupied for most of the remainder of their confinement. (Just because Clark understood why this needed to happen that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.) The only one allowed out was Wally since he was, well, dead, and his face was completely unknown. (And thank god for that, because Wally didn’t _do_ confinement. At all.) Shayera and John were sparring without powers and seemed to be enjoying themselves very much. Clark thought there was a rather inappropriate amount of wing touching going on, because as far as he understood the culture that was pretty extreme Thanagarian PDA. 

Lois would laugh at him for thinking that. Probably call him Smallville. He missed her. He really didn’t want to know what had happened to the Lois of this world. Clark knew better than to ask questions he didn’t actually want answers to. 

Unlike Bruce, Clark wasn’t used to being nocturnal, but it was hard to sleep through the various heroes wandering in and out. Also, the teleporter flashes were really distracting. Clark glanced up as the teleporter flashed yet again. It was Huntress. She peeled off her mask with a casualness that Clark still found odd and flopped on the couch with a put-upon sigh. 

“What happened?” called Barbara, pulling off her Oracle headset. 

“It’s _Tuesday_ ,” Helena grumbled. “I forgot.” 

“Ah, bad timing.” Barbara wrinkled up her nose. 

“What’s so bad about Tuesday?” asked Diana, putting her book down. 

“If Riddler’s going to snatch Q, it’s generally on a Tuesday,” Barbara informed her. 

The mere mention of the Riddler had Bruce bolting upright from his chair and knocking it over in the process with a loud clatter. 

“The Riddler? What was the clue? How long has it been?” Clark could see Bruce visibly shifting into full Batman-mode, and he didn’t blame him. The Riddler wasn’t as dangerous as, say, the Joker, but he was bad news. 

“Huh? It was ‘Roman propaganda’s curse to literature,’ so I assume he wants to complain some more about the board making him add the Aeneid to his syllabus. I don’t think he was trying very hard with that one – he must be really annoyed.” There was a long silence as every single member of the Justice League present turned to gape at her. None of that had made sense. The grin she gave them in return suggested that she had done it that way on purpose. 

“What’s so bad about the Aeneid?” asked Barbara. 

“It’s poorly written, incomplete fanfiction propaganda of the Iliad,” Helena shrugged. “Aeneas is a hollow shell of a character with the personality of dry, white toast. Plus, it was originally written in Latin which wasn’t a great language for literature.” 

“How would you know all that?” 

“I took a classics course as an elective back in university. It was a _mistake_.” 

“What does _any_ of this have to do with Question being kidnapped by the Riddler?” Bruce cut in, his patience obviously wearing thin. 

“Riddler’s a university professor these days,” Helena’s lips quirked slightly in the suggestion of a smirk. “He only pulls out the costume now so that he can chat with Q or have another of their crossword competitions. The kidnapping’s just a formality at this point.” 

Bruce looked dumbstruck. 

 

“There is something you wish to say to me?” Ever since they had arrived in the alternate reality, J’onn had noticed Gar watching him out of the corner of his eye. It seemed… personal. Like the way this world’s Black Canary refused to come within ten feet of Clark. 

Gar shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. 

“Not you.” Gar ran a hand through his hair and gave a feeble grin. “You haven’t done anything.” 

“Maybe not, but perhaps you would feel better if you said it out loud anyway.” 

Gar thought for a moment and then shrugged.

“Alright. Why not?” He pulled up a folding metal chair and sat down across from J’onn, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his laced fingers. “I’m probably one of the only people in the Corps who was actually better off during the Lords’ reign. Nobody bothered me for being a metahuman. It was… nice. Then the Fall happened, and people went crazy. People are still pretty scared of metas now, but they were terrified. And me? I’m a _green shapeshifter_. I had no way of hiding my skin. People… People thought I was _him_. I was homeless and on the run for months before I got lucky and found the base. I still can’t go out as I am without another phoenix with me. I’d be killed.” 

J’onn reached out and placed a hand on Gar’s knee as he had seen other members of the League do in times of distress. Gar buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders silently shook.

 

“Why Question?” 

Barbara leaned around her computer terminal and raised an eyebrow at Bruce. He appeared to be engrossed in whatever he was reading on the screen. She was fairly certain he was investigating the security of her firewalls for any loopholes she had missed. He was welcome to look. Those firewalls had been a joint effort between herself and Vic. She was honestly surprised he had actually asked her something. The alternate Bruce had been very good about respecting her and Dick’s space. 

“What about Question? That’s a pretty broad category. You’re going to have to be more specific.” 

“Why put him in charge? Arrow or Nightwing seem the more obvious choices.” 

Barbara had figured that was what he had meant. 

“Because he doesn’t want to be in charge.” Bruce stopped looking at his computer screen and leaned over to give her a meaningful glare. Barbara just shrugged. “All of us of the original six knew the Lords before, well, they were Lords. After an experience like that, the guy who really doesn’t want power or to be in charge gains a certain appeal. He keeps us honest. Besides, he’s a much better leader than he thinks he is. So what about your world?” Barbara abruptly and shamelessly changed the subject. “You were surprised by my ring but not the wheels. Why?” 

“You still became Oracle in my world, but you and Dick are still dancing around each other like teenagers. Alfred is frustrated – he wants grandkids.” 

 

In the end it took just over a week to put the interdimensional gateway back together. Huntress and Question accompanied the Justice League to Wayne Manor, because somebody needed to make sure they really did leave. (Though there had been a vote earlier to keep Wally. It was unanimous – everybody liked him. Wally had politely declined their only half-joking offer to join the Corps.) 

Huntress had never actually been in the Bat Cave before. It looked almost exactly how she had imagined it but with a lot more dust. Q had been there before. His shoulders were stiff, hunched, and unhappy. Neither of them was pleased to see their reality’s Bruce again. Huntress was considering shooting him in the eye with an arrow just because of the nagging feeling that he really deserved it. This was the first time she’d seen him in person since before the Fall. He looked more haggard than she remembered – lines around his eyes and gray streaking his temples that the other Bruce definitely didn’t have. 

Their reality’s Bruce was currently programming the interdimensional gateway to take the League back home while Batman hovered over his shoulder watching every move critically. It was like watching the visual representation of someone’s thought process. 

“Here.” Green Lantern handed Question a folded piece of paper as the gateway crackled to life. Question accepted the paper, cocking his head to one side curiously. “Those are the places I would go if I was in trouble and had to lie low. I don’t know if that’s where he’s gone – but it’s a start.” 

Q pocketed the paper and nodded his head. 

“Thank you.” 

“Good luck,” Shayera saluted Huntress and Question with her mace and then turned to follow Green Lantern through the gateway. 

“With our luck, we’ll probably run into each other again, so see ya!” Flash gave a cheerful little wave, and J’onn followed more sedately behind him with a parting nod. Only Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman were left. 

Wonder Woman clasped Huntress’s shoulder and gave her a bright smile.

“Thank you for your hospitality. I hope that the gods continue to smile on you.” 

“Your welcome. You were… not who I expected you to be.” Huntress gave her a small smile of her own. 

“I realize that our presence was disruptive and upsetting,” Superman hesitated. “Thank you. For everything.” He seemed about to say more and then thought better of it. He turned to leave. Batman gave them a nod and turned to leave as well, but Bruce caught his arm before he could cross the gateway’s threshold. 

“Pick one. Diana or Catwoman – just make a choice before you don’t even have a choice left to make. Even if it doesn’t work out, knowing is better than being haunted by regret for the rest of your life.” 

Batman held his gaze for several long seconds. 

“I’ll think about it.” Then he, too, disappeared through the glowing horizon. 

Bruce flicked a switch, and the gateway winked out. He turned towards Huntress and Question. His eyes focused on Q. 

“I was wrong about you. You’re a far more worthwhile man than I’ll ever be.” 

Q’s back and shoulders somehow seemed to become stiffer and more ridged than they already were. 

“You were wrong about a lot of thing.” There was an unfamiliarly cold edge to Question’s voice. 

“Helena-” 

“Save it,” Huntress cut him off. She didn’t want to hear his apologies, and he didn’t deserve to have her listen to him. 

 

Helena and Vic collapsed into bed in an exhausted heap. It felt like she had been running on nothing but adrenaline since the Justice League arrived in the Grand Plaza. Now her body was handing her the bill, and, boy, was it steep. Just this once, Helena was taking the night off. So was Vic. They had earned it. For one night, Gotham would be just fine without them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No worries - the rest of the Justice League took care of the troublemakers while the original seven were on vacation in the Phoenix Corps' reality. 
> 
> **CONTEST TIME!** Both the books mentioned in this chapter are real fantasy novels. Correctly identify either one of them, and _I will write you a short missing scene one-shot_ about any one of the characters who have been mentioned so far in this story (from Huntress and Q all the way to Stargirl and Wildcat). You can ask for a moment anywhere from the original rise of the Justice Lords to this most resent chapter. All you have to do is name that novel!


	6. Upward Trend

Technically, having the news on while she graded didn’t help her concentration, but Helena liked the background noise.  It filled up the silence when it was just her in the apartment.  When Vic was there, he made little quiet noises that indicated that she wasn’t alone.  At the moment he was off interviewing somebody for a story, so the news it was.

Helena frowned at the stack of quizzes.  She was using way too much red pen.  Tomorrow, she and her students were going to be having a Chat.

“… _And our top story of the night.  Authorities in France have arrested former Justice Lord, John Stewart, better known as the Green Lantern._ ”  Helena’s head snapped up, the depressing quizzes instantly forgotten.  There was John Stewart being lead across the screen by the French police in handcuffs.  He had long hair and a full beard, but it was definitely him.  “ _Interpol is crediting Stewart’s capture to the excellent work of local police and a series of tips they received recently which they say may have originated from the Phoenix Corps._ ”  Damn it.  Nobody was supposed to know that.“ _Stewart is being held in a high security center until he can be moved to the same facility as the other former Justice Lords to await sentence.  Stewart’s damaged power ring has not been recovered._ ”  Double damn it.  That might be a problem.

But they had caught him – that was the important thing.  In the end, the Justice League’s Green Lantern’s tips had paid off.  It had taken Oracle and Question a while to track down his exact location, but they had done it.  Green Lantern was finally caught.

 

“Space heater, _no_!”

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing else I can do.”  Pat sat back on his heels and began putting away the tools he normally used on his STRIPE armor.  “It’s dead.  Some of this wiring has actually melted and shorted out most of the components.”

“But it’s almost October!” Courtney (Stargirl) moaned.  “We’re going to _freeze_!”

Helena was inclined to agree.  The base was a huge, draughty warehouse.  They didn’t have proper heating – just a system that kept it _just_ warm enough that icicles didn’t form.  Originally, they’d had two space heaters.  The first had coughed its last at the beginning of the previous March.  Now fall was closing in fast, and they had none.  They were doomed. 

They really needed to do something about their horrific cash flow problem. 

“I think we still have a small camping heater in our garage,” offered Kara, who was crouched next to Courtney.

“So,” Dick was leaning against the back of the couch next to Gar with his arms folded and using his TV anchor voice, “if you had to come up with one word to describe how dead that space heater is, Gar, what would it be?”

“Cadaverific.”

“You two are being supremely unhelpful,” grumped Courtney.

“We could always find a couple of oil drums to burn garbage in,” Gar suggested.  The worst of it was, he was only half joking.

“That would set off the sprinkler system,” Helena sighed.  “We’ll just have to dip into the conference table fund to help pay for a new space heater.”

“Damn it, at this rate we are never going to get a new table.”  Dick’s mouth twisted to one side.

They really needed a source of income before the Phoenix Corps simply imploded from lack of funds.

 

_Bang!  Bang!  Bang!_

Helena looked up from the floorplan that she had been going over with Lee and Question.

“Dude, are we being invaded?” asked Gar, hanging his head over the edge of the split level.  “Why is somebody trying to use the door?”

“Good question.”  Ollie rolled off the couch to his feet and reached for his bow.  

“Shall I get it?” Nightwing asked as he finished securing his mask in place.

“Nah.”  Huntress pressed down the edges of her own mask.  “You got the door last time.  It’s my turn.”  She strode across the floor, pulling her mini-crossbow out of its holster on her thigh.  Question, Crimson Avenger, and Green Arrow were hot on her heels with Gar (as a wolf), Nightwing, Black Canary, and Vigilante not far behind.  Huntress tried to check the peephole, but the flap over it had rusted shut.  Damn it.  Oh well.  She slid back all the bolts and then eased the door open, making sure that her crossbow lead.  “What the hell?!”

A man was kneeling in front of the door with his fingers laced behind his bowed head.  He was dressed in civilian clothing.

Gar shifted back into human form,

“Uh, did we order a hostage?”

Before anyone could comment further the man spoke,

“MynameisHalJordanIcomeinpeaceIdidn’tknowsopleasedon’tshoot!”

Huntress hadn’t caught any of that.

“You’re _who_?”

“Hal Jordan.”  Hal lifted his head and gave her a winning grin that was at least ninety percent bravado. His hands were still behind his head.

“And what brings you here, Mr. Jordan?”

“This.”  He held up two plastic baggies.  They contained two very familiar looking green rings.  “I just wanted to let you guys know that I have Stewart’s ring – you don’t have to worry about it causing any further problems.  It’s damaged beyond repair as it is.”

“You’re a Green Lantern?” asked Question in an icy neutral voice.

“I was in deep space with a sentient spaceship when- when _it_ happened.  Stewart sent in a recommendation that I might be at risk and required supervision and retraining that he couldn’t provide.  The Guardians believed him out of hand, because I’ve always been… kinda unruly compared to Stewart.  And then after the mess with the Lords they were even less inclined to send me home.  I only just got to come back to Earth.”  Hal slowly started to ease to his feet, his hands in the air now.  Nobody tried to stop him.  “Anyway, I’m not here to hurt anybody or cause trouble.  I just wanted to tell you myself what happened.  I won’t bother you further, but if you’re ever short a hand or, hell, in need of a pilot, let me know.  As far as I’m concerned, the Green Lantern Corps owes this world a lot.”

 

Helena and Vic didn’t go to see a lot of movies in theaters.  Movies were expensive.  But both Helena and Vic had a weakness for spy thrillers.  Helena liked the action and ridiculous explosions.  She was pretty sure that Vic liked them because he identified with the overly paranoid main characters too much and there was always a conspiracy.  Whatever the reason, there was a new Mission Improbable movie out, and they were splurging.  Helena had even bought popcorn.  (No butter, though – Vic had an entire speech prepared and ready to go about what went into movie theater butter.)  Vic didn’t have his arm draped over her shoulders, but he did have his shoulder pressed into hers.

Helena popped a few more kernels in her mouth as another trailer started.  Some guy was running in a panic down side alleys, his heavy breathing loud in the quiet.  He looked like some sleazy mobster type.  Only brief glimpses of the edges of his pursuer were being shown.  Somebody wearing dark colors.  Finally the panicked man was cornered in an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by shadows.

Helena reached for more popcorn.

_“Who the hell are you?!”_ wailed the man on the screen. 

_“That… is the question.”_   There was the popping of a match being lit in the shadows and-

The popcorn slid, unnoticed, from Helena’s numb fingers because _there was a man on the screen with no face!  No face and a fedora!  The jawline was wrong and the skin tone was a shade or two darker, but THAT WAS Q!  THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE Q!  HOLY SHIT, WHY WAS Q IN THIS MOVIE?!?  WHAT THE EVER LOVING HELL WAS GOING ON?!?_

On screen the cornered man let out a shriek of pure terror at the sight before him, and Helena was fairly surprised that she wasn’t screaming right along with him.  She watched, slack jawed as the trailer continued.  There were explosions, some witty one-liners, and action.  There was a woman who was obviously supposed to be Huntress.  Nightwing, Black Canary, and Green Arrow were there, too, and… was that a very male Oracle?  Finally, the title burned across the screen.  _The Phoenix Corps_.  It was followed by one last brief clip.

The Huntress stand-in was hanging off the ladder of a fire escape and extending one gloved hand to the Question standing on the ground below her.

_“What do you say, doll?  Wanna save the world?”_

The final titles ran across the screen.  _Coming this summer. #UnitedWeStand_

The entire theater burst into excited whispers – there were even a few cheers.

Helena gaped at the screen as another trailer started playing.  Finally she leaned over and hissed in Vic’s ear,

“Did _you_ know about this?!”

Vic shook his head slowly, his jaw still hanging open.

 

A little over two hours later Helena and Vic were sitting in Vic’s car and staring into the middle distance.  Helena thought that the movie they’d seen had been good, but she wasn’t entirely sure.  She hadn’t exactly been able to focus.

“So… we could sue them for this right?”

Vic nodded, but he appeared to be lost in thought.

“Yes, we could….”  His eyes were unfocused.

“You have another idea?”

“Possibly.”

“What is it?”

“Ask for a percentage of the profits – movie and merchandise.  If they say no, then we sue them.  Ollie knows some lawyers.”

“…Our electric bill could be covered for years.”  Helena’s mind could barely even grasp the beauty of the idea.  “Wait.  Does this mean we need a PR agent?”

“Maybe.  But first we have to get the studio to agree.”

 

It was truly wonderful what teleporters could let you get away with as long as you planned it right.  Like totally skipping front desk security theoretically.  Huntress had wanted to just saunter in the front doors and enjoy the general panic and chaos that would cause, but Q had said no.  Then he’d rethought his decision, because skipping security was technically illegal, and they didn’t want someone to turn around and sue _them_ for breaking and entering.  That wasn’t a precedent anybody wanted to set.  So instead they were using the wonders of the teleporters to put them down just outside the studio – around a corner so that hopefully nobody would notice their arrival.  Question and Huntress were doing this because, well, Q was theoretically in charge so it was technically his job and Huntress was the one who generally went places with him.  Green Arrow, Black Canary, Vigilante, and Shining Knight were all on standby just in case.  In case of what, Huntress wasn’t sure.  The studio wasn’t being run by the mafia or anything – Q had already checked.

Being out during the daytime in costume was… weird.  It felt sort of like showing up to work in pajamas but inverted.

Huntress craned her head back to look at the façade of the building.

“This is the studio who bought the rights to that sci-fi series, right?”

“No, thinking of somebody else.”

Walking in the front doors in full costume caused surprisingly little reaction.  There was a massive poster for the Phoenix Corps movie in the front lobby.  Huntress paused in front of it for a moment.  Those were some ridiculous poses their doppelgangers were doing.

Question had the brim of his hat pulled down and his trench coat collar up, so that it was less obvious to the casual observer that he didn’t have a face.  The reaction of that guy in the movie trailer was a fairly standard first time response to meeting Question unexpectedly. 

The receptionist barely glanced up at them before looking back down at her computer.

“I’m sorry.  No one is allowed in without a prior appointment, and we are not giving tours of the studio at this time.  Thank you for your enthusiasm.”  The words sounded like they had already been repeated many times.

“Oh, we’re not here for a tour.”  Huntress leaned one arm on the tall desk and picked casually at her nails through her gloves.  “We’re here to chat with your bosses about a few fun vocab words like libel and slander and misappropriation.”  Huntress grinned a grin that was all teeth.

“Please inform Steve Ditko and Henry Nesmith that Question and Huntress from the Phoenix Corps are here to see them,” Question stated, “and that if they don’t make time to see us _now_ , the next action that we take will be legal.”

“Listen,” the receptionist began, “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to pu-”  She came to a full stop as Q tipped his hat back a bit, and she got her first proper look at his lack of face.  Her jaw dropped.

“Ya know, Q, I don’t think she believes us.”

“I believe you’re right.”  Question raised one hand to his communicator.  “Oracle, our audience requires some convincing.  Please send Green Arrow and Black Canary to our location.”

In a flash of light, the number of Phoenix Corps members in the lobby rose from two to four.  Everyone was gaping at them now.  Huntress was fairly certain that somebody was taking pictures with their phone.

“Having problems?” asked Green Arrow.  “Huh.  Nice poster.”  He turned to Black Canary.  “Can you actually twist like that?”

Black Canary shrugged in a way that seemed to imply, yes, obviously she could.

“I’ll, uh- I’ll just, uh- I’ll, um- yeaaah.”  The receptionist scrabbled desperately for her phone.

 

Kara’s jaw nearly fell off when she appeared on the teleporter pad.  Helena didn’t blame her.  After all, Gar was dancing on the conference table.  And they did have the music cranked up pretty loud.

“What the hell’s going on?” shouted Kara, trying to make herself heard over the noise.

“Spontaneous dance party!” Dick shouted back as he slid by.

“But why?!”

“WE FINALLY HAVE FUNDS!!!” everyone roared together in delight.

“There are so many _zeroes_!” Courtney crowed gleefully.  She caught Kara’s hands and dragged her over to join everyone.  “This is something worth _celebrating_!”

Everyone was dancing in one form or another.  Even Vic.  Though, admittedly, very badly.  He had absolutely no rhythm.  Helena didn’t care.  Finally, _finally_ it felt like things were really going their way.

 

Just because they had funds now didn’t mean they were going to start getting fancy.  They bought new space heaters, a conference table, two more computer terminals, a fridge, and a better coffee maker.  All the rest of their lovely new funds were being saved to pay for their electricity bills – current and future –, any potential teleporter repairs, medical bills, and to ensure that every single member of the Corps had a Kevlar chest plate and any other safety equipment they needed.  While everyone thought that the Phoenix Corps movie was probably going to be the best unintentional comedy of the summer, the general agreement was also that it would most likely bomb and take the Corps’ new-found income with it.  After all, who would go see such a ridiculous movie even if it had impressive special effects?  Having funds was lovely, but they wouldn’t last forever, so they were budgeting accordingly. 

 

Finding a decent PR agent turned out to be much simpler than anyone had expected, because Gar had one on speed dial.  Literally.

Michael “Call me Booster” Carter had the eye patch of a soap opera villain and the overly shiny grin of a used car salesman and yet somehow managed to be a very genuine and straightforward person.  According to Gar, anyway.  Huntress eyed the man doubtfully.

“Are you _sure_ he’s not an ex-supervillain?” she hissed to Question out of the side of her mouth.  Q turned his head to look at her.  The cant of his shoulders indicated that he thought that she was being ridiculous.

“Not ex-supervillain – ex-vigilante.  Formerly Booster Gold.”

Booster’s beam ratcheted up in intensity several notches.

“You’ve actually heard of me!  _And_ you got the name right!”

Question tugged the brim of his hat and gave a little shrug.

“I do my research.”

“All you had to do was ask me,” Gar pointed out.  “I could have told you that.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t have told me that he’s also not originally from this time period.”

“He’s _what_?!” yelped Gar, turning to glare accusingly at Booster.

“You really are as good as they said you were!”  Booster looked positively thrilled.

“That’s beside the point.”  Gar gave him a hard poke in the side.  “Why didn’t you _tell_ me that you were from the future?!”

“Because… you aren’t supposed to know?”

“Does Ted know?”

“Of _course_ , Ted knows.  He’s known me since before Skeets got destroyed, and he’s my roommate.  How could he not know?”

“I lived with you guys for _months_ , and _I_ never knew!”

“It’s not really something I’m supposed to be telling people,” Booster shrugged.  He twiddled the gold ring he wore uncomfortably.  On its circular face it had a golden L and starburst on a black background.  A large crack ran through the center of the circle.

 

The sudden _thud_ was what caught Helena’s attention.  She was in the middle of her customary class-is-over-for-the-day faceplant on their bed.  She’d been lying like that for a good five minutes and hadn’t even bothered to kick her shoes off yet.  The unexpected noise, however, sent an abrupt jolt of adrenaline slicing through the fog of ‘ugh, teenagers’ and jumpstarted her brain back into high alert.  Helena was upright and moving in less than five seconds with the nearest improvised weapon in hand.  The noise sounded like it had come from the living room.  The only thing that Helena found in the living room, however, was Vic.

He was sitting on the couch with a dazed expression on his face and a rapidly wrinkling piece of paper in his hand.  A miraculously unbroken mug lay on the ground, dribbling tea across the carpet.  Helena supposed that that was where the _thud_ had come from.

“What is it?” she asked, because nothing good could come from Vic looking that shell-shocked.  Wordlessly, Vic handed over the piece of paper.  Helena took it from him. It turned out to actually be two pieces of paper, a formal letter and what looked like a bank statement.  Helena skimmed the letter first.

_Mr. Sage,_

_In light of new information, it has come to our attention that-_

“They un-froze it.”  Vic’s voice was slightly faint and detached.

“Pardon?”  Helena looked up from the letter.

“They un-froze my bank account,” Vic repeated, sounding just as numb as before.

“Your bank-” Helena stopped, the words barely leaving her lips.  A remembered conversation flashed through her mind,

_I lost everything – even my savings.  Wayne had my accounts frozen._

She looked back down at the formal bank letterhead.  Flipped over to look at the account statement.  Helena sat down heavily on the couch next to Vic.

“It’s just- I just-”  Vic leaned forward and gripped his head between his hands.  Helena curled an arm around his shoulders.  She could hear the words he wasn’t saying.

_It’s too good to be true.  When’s the other shoe going to drop?_

 

Huntress woke slowly.  Her head buzzed.  Her ears rang.  Her body ached.  Pain stabbed through her right side with each breath in a way that suggested at least cracked ribs.  She could taste concrete dust in the air.  Everything was dark.

What the hell had happened?

She remembered Nightwing asking her and Q to help him with an investigation in Bloodhaven.  Something about black market antiquities and human trafficking.  They’d been following up on a tip about a warehouse near the docks… alerted Nightwing’s police contacts that they’d found the missing girls….

Bomb.  Oh god, there had been a bomb. 

“Q?” Huntress called.  Her voice was barely a croak.  “’Wing?”

No response.  The beginnings of panic clawed at her throat.

Slowly, painfully, she eased her hand up to her communicator.  _Please, let it still be working._

“Oracle?  O, are you there?”  She tried to ignore the quaver in her voice.

“Huntress?  Oh, th--k god!”  Hearing Barbara’s voice was like sunlight breaking through the clouds even if it was crackly and slightly broken.  “How badly are you hurt?”

“Busted some of my ribs,” Huntress mumbled.  “Probably got a concussion, too.”

“Okay.  I need you -- hang tight -nd stay as still as pos--ble.  Rescue crews are work--- on digging you out.  There’s too much interference for -- to use the teleporters.”

“What about Q and ‘Wing?”

The silence stretched out a little too long.

“I haven’t heard from them, ye-.  -’ll let you ---w as soon as I do.” 

Huntress’s heart clenched. 

She wasn’t sure how long she was trapped in the silent blackness.  It could have been hours or minutes or months.  Time was meaningless.  Her communicator hissed and popped unhappily in her ear for a while and then went quiet.  Where was Oracle?  Why wasn’t anyone telling her anything?  Oh, god.  What if they were dead?  What if Q and ‘Wing were dead, and Oracle was waiting until after the rescue crew found her to tell her?  They had been on the far side of the warehouse from her making sure they hadn’t missed any of the girls.  They had been closer to the blast.  Huntress’s mind painted out a horrifying future for her in vivid detail.  An empty future without a Conspiracy Board cluttering the study or the radio tuned to an inane pop music station or Whatever We Have in the Fridge Stir Fry or cups of tea appearing by her elbow when she was having a bad day.  No spontaneous afternoon naps with Vic on the couch.  No sympathetic ear after a rough day with her students.  No more kissing Vic on the cheek in public just to see that bashful grin and his face turn red.  No more-  No more-

Huntress’s hands were starting to shake, small, violent tremors that she barely even noticed.  It felt like her chest was filling with ice that crackled and creaked with every breath that she took.  Her mind was caught in an endless, unescapable litany of no-mores.

And then-

Something overhead shifted.  A trickle of dust feathered across her face.  She coughed.

“I think I hear something.  Stand back!” a faint voice shouted.

The inky blackness was suddenly replaced by blinding brightness and a silhouetted figure.  A figure who was effortlessly holding up the massive slab of concrete that Huntress had been trapped beneath.

“I found her!” the figure called over their shoulder.  The slab of concrete was delicately placed to one side and then the person was carefully picking their way over to her side.  “Huntress?  Are you still awake?”

Huntress knew that voice.

Kara leaned over her.  She was wearing one of Black Canary’s spare half masks and a large, shapeless blue sweatshirt with the hood pulled up to help hide her blonde hair.  Huntress gaped up at her.

“You took off your necklace,” she mumbled.

Kara bit her lip and nodded.

“Yeah – Gar’s holding onto it for me.  Everything’s a lot lighter and more delicate than I remember.”  Gentle hands checked Huntress’s neck.  “Can you sit up?”

“Yeah.”  Her head felt a bit woozy and her chest still ached with imagined cold as Kara helped her up, but nothing too bad.  “Have you found the others, yet?”  Her voice didn’t crack, but it was a close thing.

“Nightwing is on his way to the hospital.  He broke his leg, but other than that he’s in pretty good shape.  We haven’t dug out Q, yet, but he’s awake and talking.  Oracle tried to contact you, but you weren’t responding.  We were worried.”

“My communicator must have died,” Huntress muttered, dazed with relief as Kara helped her slowly ease to her feet.  “What about the girls?”

“Bumps and scratches and mild shock – they all made it out of the building before it blew.”  Kara paused and added, “If anybody up top asks any questions, Stargirl has been calling me ‘Spark.’”  Her mouth pulled down a touch at one corner unhappily.

“Are you okay?”  The answer was obviously no, but it was the best Huntress’s foggy brain could come up with.  Kara had taken off her necklace.  It was staggering and unexpected.

“Well, it’s better than her first suggestion.  What kind of stupid name is ‘Powergirl,’ anyway?” Kara tried to deflect, but her heart obviously wasn’t in it.  When they had almost reached the lip of the rubble Huntress had been trapped in, she finally murmured, “I’m not, but… this is… important.  More important than me.  It’s the right thing to do.”

Huntress squeezed her shoulder.  She wanted to say something, something supportive and encouraging, but she couldn’t find the words.  Then they were free of the debris and paramedics were swarming them like very helpful sharks.  Kara quickly flitted away to help Stargirl and STRIPE, who were assisting the relief crews.  In a matter of moments, Huntress found herself perched on the back of an ambulance and wrapped up in a shock blank.  She’d taken off her left glove so that the cuts she hadn’t noticed on her arm could be bandaged.  After a while, she pulled the broken communicator out of her ear.  She still felt numb and cold, but that was just the shock, she was pretty sure. 

“Got him!”  The excited cry rose into the air.

Kara and a firefighter were helping Question out of the broken remains of the warehouse.  He was coated in dust and grime, his fedora was missing, and the right sleeve of his trench coat and the suit jacket underneath were torn almost clean off.  His right arm hung limply at his side, and he was limping heavily, but Huntress didn’t care.  He was okay.  _He was okay._

Forgetting her shock blanket and the paramedic’s firm orders to take is easy, Huntress raced forward, weaving between pieces of masonry and relief crew members.  She slowed right before she reached Q and caught him up in a desperate hug, mindful of his right arm and her cracked ribs.  Q returned the hug with one arm, his shoulders slumping in relief.  They were both shaking.

 

Cracked ribs were a pain in the ass.  The only thing you could do for them was take pain medication.  Doctors didn’t even wrap them anymore for whatever reason.  Helena winced as she shifted in her chair.  At least she didn’t have her arm in a sling and a couple of broken fingers like Vic or crutches like Dick.  All three of them would be off the street for a while, and all three of them were starting to go stir crazy after just a couple of days.  Helena was so bored that she’d offered to help edit Kara’s latest paper.  Normally she got enough of that sort of thing from her students.  Helena kept shooting longing glances at where Dinah and Ted were sparring.

Kara was sitting across the table from her, buried in a medical textbook.  Occasionally one of her hands drifted up to touch the kryptonite pendant around her neck as if to check that it was still really there.

“Hey, Kara.”  Courtney slid into the seat next to Kara and seemed to hesitate for a moment.  Then she set a lidded, white, cardboard box next to Kara’s textbook.  It was about four inches square and an inch tall.  “I, uh, made this for you.”

Kara blinked at the box and picked it up.

“Thank you.”  She lifted the lid.  A large pendant on a heavy chain sat nestled in cotton wool.  The pendant itself appeared to be made of tarnished silver and was decorated with facetted blue gems and odd swirling symbols.  It looked, for lack of a better word, occult.  Kara picked it up and watched it twist back and forth in the light.

Courtney knotted her fingers together and looked down at the table.

“I thought, well, if you ever needed to be Spark again, that you could wear that so that people will think that you’re using a power source like me instead of being a metahuman.  I mean, you don’t have to _say_ that you’re not a meta, but people are really good at jumping to conclusions.  And that way people are less likely to think that your powers seem, you know, familiar, and you can help people without putting yourself in danger….”  Courtney trailed off and ducked her head lower.

Kara continued to stare at the pendant a few moments longer.  Then she abruptly turned and wrapped her arms around Courtney in a tight hug, the pendant still in one hand.

“ _Thank you._ ”

Helena smiled to herself and went back to her editing. 

Sometimes gestures spoke so much better than words. 

 

“No.”

“They want to talk to you,” Barbara sighed.  “They’re not willing to discuss terms with anybody else.”

The stiff straightness of Question’s back indicated that he was scowling under his mask.  His arms were folded and his shoulders were tight.  His right arm was still in a sling even though his fingers had already healed.

“Terrible idea.  Not a diplomat.”

“Yes, but you’re our leader.”

“Still a terrible idea.”

“Unfortunately, we already decided on this ages ago,” Helena pointed out from the beanbag she was currently flopped on.

“Aye, but I do not think that anyone truly believed that Atlantis would be heard from again,” Sir Justin countered.  He had out his whetstone and was examining his sword for any nicks or imperfections.  Helena had been under the impression that magical swords couldn’t _get_ dull, but Sir Justin claimed he found the routine relaxing. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that their king requested to speak with our leader specifically,” Barbara sighed.  “Nobody is happy about this.  Several countries are all for turning the Atlantians into sushi.”

“I ain’t rightly sure that we should stop them,” grumbled Vigilante.  “They’re all a bunch o’ lily livered cowards.”

“Blowing up our aquatic neighbors will not improve the situation.”  It always impressed Helena just how unflappable Sir Justin could be.  Then again, the man was practically older than dirt.  Little tended to surprise him anymore.

 

Huntress eyed Arthur Curry distrustfully.  She was just glad that he hadn’t insisted on meeting with Question in Atlantis.  Instead they were meeting on “neutral ground,” which was a nice way of saying that they were borrowing some currently-unused warehouse or other by the harbor.  The Phoenix Corps had provided a table and some chairs, all of which needed to be returned to the Base once this meeting was over.  The warehouse was, if nothing else, private – even if it did still smell faintly of fish.  Huntress sat to Q’s right and Crimson Avenger sat to his left.  Both of them were prepared to shoot Curry if he made one wrong move towards Q, diplomacy be damned.

“You wanted to speak with me?” asked Question finally, after the silence had stretched out for several awkward, agonizing minutes.

Curry let out a short, sharp breath and made an obvious and unsuccessful attempt at relaxing his features.

“This once I think it would be better if I abandoned diplomacy and cut straight to the chase.”  He sounded almost anxious, but Huntress wasn’t prepared to be even remotely sympathetic, yet.

Question folded his arms,

“By all means.”

Curry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table,

“Are any of your members familiar enough with the former Lord Batman’s technology that they would be able to find and dismantle something he had built without setting it off?”

“Pardon?”  Question’s arms went from rigidly folded to involuntarily slack with surprise.  Huntress and Crimson Avenger exchanged a startled glance behind Q’s head.

“Do you know how many would die if crude oil were released anywhere in Atlantis?  Lord Batman did.  If the city’s shield were up when it happened, my entire city would be poisoned in less than an hour.  If the shield were down, the effects would not be as quick but the devastation would stretch for miles.”  Curry wasn’t looking directly at Question any more but at a distant point somewhere over Q’s left shoulder.  His eyes were tired and haunted.  “Five years of good behavior and no contact with the surface world,” Curry scowled.  “Those were their terms.  Five years and then they would contact me to… _renegotiate_.”  He practically spat the word, and his scowl deepened.  “It has now been almost six years.”  His eyes refocused on the trio of Phoenix Corps members in front of him.  “I won’t let my people be held hostage any longer.”

 

When Helena looked up from her book, Dick was leaning his elbows on the railing of the Base’s split level, head hanging.  She returned the novel she had borrowed from the Corps’ “library” to its shelf and then went to lean next to him.

“Worried about Atlantis?” she finally asked.

Dick shook his head, not looking at her.

“Not really.  I’m just playing eyes and ears for Babs.  Pat’s doing the delicate mechanical part.”

“It’s deactivated, right?”

“If he’s telling the truth, yeah.”

“Right.”  Sometimes truth seemed like such a fragile, nebulous thing.

“Just when I think that there’s nothing else I could find out about what he did that would….”  Dick trailed off with a tiny, helpless shrug and seemed disinclined to continue.

Helena put a hand on his shoulder.  What else was there to say?

 

The most recent addition to the poker night tradition was pizza.  It didn’t always happen but sometimes if everyone was in the right mood and hungry, they’d all chip in and send one or two members to pick them up.  Tonight was one of those nights.  Kara and Sir Justin had been sent to obtain the pizzas.  Everyone was waiting patiently for their return.  Vic had agreed to be the dealer, and then been made to repeatedly promise not to stack the deck.

“How do you even _know_ how to stack a deck?” asked Pat.  He and Courtney were fairly new to poker night.

“From Hub City,” Vic shrugged.  He riffled the cards in his hands and made them dance between his fingers.

“What does that have to do with anything?”  Pat picked up a pretzel and popped it in his mouth.

Vic squinted at him.  “I’m from _Hub City_ ,” he repeated slowly.  “I was pretty much born knowing how to cheat at cards.  It’s practically in our genetic memory.” 

Helena grinned and leaned back in her chair.  Despite Vic’s promises, she knew that she’d still end up with a suspiciously excellent hand at some point.  

“He WHAT?!?”  Barbara’s screech from her workstation snapped the casual atmosphere like a toothpick.  “No!  He can’t-  It’s poker night!  Nobody’s-  _Fuck!_ ”  Barbara pushed back from her computer terminal and yanked off her headset.  “Masks on!  Everybody, **_masks on!!!_** ”

Nobody stopped to ask questions.  The base briefly descended into madness.  In a matter of seconds everyone who could suit up, had suited up, and Barbara had wheeled herself as far away from the teleporter pad as possible into a more shadowy section of the base.

There was a flash of teleporter light, and the number of people in the room increased by three.  On one side stood Kara looking flustered and wide-eyed. One the other side stood Sir Justin looking furious and uncharacteristically belligerent.  And in the middle stood a blond young man in a black “Pizzario’s: Gotham’s Best Pizza” t-shirt.  His hair was short and gelled, his eyes blue, and a wide black band with an odd metallic center piece wrapped snugly around his right wrist.  Huntress was more interested in the kid’s t-shirt than his jewelry, though.  Sir Justin had ahold of him by one arm and the back of the neck.

“Oh my god, _what the hell?!_ ” groaned Stargirl.  “ _Please_ , tell me you did not just kidnap one of the employees of the best pizza place in Gotham!”

“I wish I could,” mumbled Kara, “but then I would be lying.”  She turned to Sir Justin.  “For the last time!  His name is _Mark_ , he’s in Art History 1020 with me, and he is _not_ some sort of threat!”

Sir Justin bared his teeth and practically snarled,

“ _Nay_.  His name is not _Mark_ ; it is **_Mordred_**.”  Sir Justin shook the young man by the back of his neck.  “I know not what glamour you have cast upon yourself, child, but you do not fool _me_.  I have known your face for a thousand years, and mere aging will not make me forget it!”

“It’s not a glamour, you jackass!” snapped the young man.  Huntress’s jaw nearly dropped, because his accent was almost exactly the same as Sir Justin’s.  He raised his right wrist and shook his bracelet in Sir Justin’s face.  “Whatever this is broke Mother’s spell!  You’re lucky that I need your help and like Kara, otherwise I would have screamed for help and had you arrested!”

Silence stretched out as every single vigilante in the base gaped at the young man who was, apparently, Mordred.  Mordred, for his part, folded his arms and scowled at Sir Justin.

“What do you mean by ‘need your help’?” asked Question finally.

Mordred stared at him levelly for a moment, and then tilted his head slightly.

“Not all of the magic users are dead, and I need your help to bring them back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cadaverific" belongs to TeamFourStar over at DBZ Abridged. 
> 
> I solemnly swear, even if it takes me another year and a half to get it written, there will be another chapter. I love the Phoenix Corps so much.
> 
> For anyone wondering, the two novels being read in the last chapter were "Small Gods" and "Guards! Guards!" both by Terry Pratchett.


End file.
